


Exfill

by TheColdEastWind



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Meeting, Anal Sex, BAMF John, Blaphomous Overtones, Experienced Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Drug Use, M/M, Mention of Suicidal thought, Military, Oral Sex, SAS John, use of strong language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-07 04:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 42,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColdEastWind/pseuds/TheColdEastWind
Summary: Sherlock has gotten himself into a spot of bother. The SAS sends a man after him.





	1. Chapter 1

~Moscow Russia ~

 

“I’m hungry.” Sherlock let the thought register in the back of his mind, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten let alone the last time he’d felt actual hunger and it made him laugh, which was a bad idea on several levels. First, it was excruciating, second it drew the attention of the men in the room, and if there were ever a group of men who’s attention Sherlock didn’t want it was these.

He hadn’t been held captive long, but these men were skilled torturers (only the best for the best he supposed.) a lesser man, a lesser mind would have given them all that they’d asked for almost instantly. But for Sherlock the pain they inflicted was an excecercise in understanding. And although he didn’t like pain he could at least gain information on how the body reacted and responses to the different torture methods. Data, data, data. 

His captors had rested his feet in a pan of water and dropped in jumper cables. The result was not only painful and disorienting but exhausting as well. One of the men had hammered a nail into the soft flesh just above Sherlock’s knee. Simple. Elegant. One of Sherlock’s least favorite activities was the ice water. The first night he arrived the requisite rib shattering beating had been administered, following which he had been stripped naked and bound hands tied to a chair behind his back, ankles together and to the rung of the chair. Then a bucket of ice water was unceremoniously dumped over his head and he was left alone with the windows open in an abandon Russian warehouse. Sherlock hated all things Russian, vodka, Tchaikovsky and most especially their weather. The plan has been obvious enough with the fifty gallon barrels places at regular intervals around him, but that didn’t make the process of freeze and thaw any better. Not close enough for any real warmth, but just close enough to stave off death. Once the barrels where lit and Sherlock could feel the ice crystals begin to break apart and melt in his vains, he knew to ready himself for a new wave of pain. Metal coat hanger were turned red hot in the barrels and then laid on the delicate skin of his thighs or along the sides of his rib cage. These men were inventive if nothing else. One of his captors enjoyed putting out his cigarettes on Sherlock’s shoulder in the same spot over and over. They were nearing day three and although the methods hadn’t varied much that made them no less terrifying or painful. It’s was almost intimate. There was no yelling and screaming, no belligerent curses, just quite questions in thick Russian, and cold and pain.

“Nam nuzhny otvety g-n Kholms.”  
(“We want answers Mr. Holmes.”)

Mr. Ice Water, said as he gently moved a half frozen curl off Sherlock’s face. 

“Answers.” Sherlock spoke through chattering teeth. “Well let’s see; by definition an answer is a thing said, written, or done to deal with or as a reaction to a question, statement, or situation. We are lacking a question. You’ve made no statement, and this whole situation is of your doing not mine. Therefore I can not help you.”

“No mister Kholms, vot i vse. Vy uzhe znayete vopros.”  
(“But Mr. Holmes that’s just it. You already know the question.”) He dropped the cables back in the water without warning.

 

~~~

Saint Petersburg, Russia 

 

“Hello J.” The woman’s voice was crisp and very British.

“Hello Mercy.” John sat his drink back down and sighed. His time was very rarely his own and it looked like the green eyed brunette he’d been playing flirt tag with all evening would not be naked beneath him tonight after all.

“Her Majesty, needs an exfill. British citizen on Russian soil. Retrieve, relocate and secure until further notice.”

“I serve at the pleasure of the Queen.” Retrieve, relocate and secure. This was new. John was accustom to being the blunt instrument. When it was imperative that an asset be extracted John was the call you made. Having to secure said asset after relocation well that was...new. 

“I’m sending you the dossier now. Good luck J.”

“Thank you Mercy.” John got up from his corner table and winked at the green eyed young man at the bar on his way out the door.


	2. Retrieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go to work.

John stood on the roof of the building assessing the situation below. Six to one. Good odds. No heavy weapons visible. Tightly surrounded clearing, good for John, very very bad for them, two possible escape routes, and absolutely no way past him. The asset was naked and bound to a chair. John could see the poor bloke shivering from here. Sick fucks. Time to go to work. John pulled the balaclava down over his face and repelled down the side of the building. John picked the lock and slipped through the door like a shadow. He walked along the east wall of the building with his L9A1, at eye level. John paused. One of the men had just put jumper cables in the water at his assets feet. John clenched his teeth in rage. If he shot the lights out now, that would leave the poor bastard with his feet in the water convulsing in the dark until he was done with the Russians. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. John waited for what seemed like an eternity. The plan had been shoot out the lights drop a flash bang, put on his night vision and then put a bullet in each of their heads. But now John was pissed and he needed to put his hands on someone. 

John stepped into the clearing and fired four shots. Russian’s One and Two, went down with two bullets a piece. Head and chest. Russian number three, got a shot off in John’s general direction which only pissed him off more as the knee capped Russian’s four and five before he turned and shot Three, in the face and chest. With Four and Five on the floor John shot the gun out of Six’s, hand and put two bullets in Four and Five as he passed. 

“Ty, Kommi, trakhayesh’sya.” Six, snarled at John.   
(“You Commie, fuck.”)

“English, you fat fuck.” John advanced on the man with fist raised and punched him hard in the face. Once. Twice. The mans head snapped back violently, and blood poured into his mouth, John followed it with a powerful elbow to the temple, a solid left to the solar plexus and a vicious kick that splintered the Russian’s leg and left him a cripple, on the floor and screaming.

“Please. Please.” Six, held his good hand up and tried to scoot away.

John just watched him for a second through narrowed eyes. John glanced at his asset who was still shivering and had tried to curl in on himself during the chaos. He looked back at Six, still begging for his life.

“Net.” John shot Six, twice in the face.  
(“No.”)

John, went to his knees in front of his asset, he shoved the pan of water out of the way, ripped off his balaclava, and put the mans icy feet into it. John dug his hand into one of his cargo pockets and pulled out two Mylar blankets. He put one around the mans shoulders and the other across his lap. John spoke softly as he cut the mans ties. “Mr. Holmes, you’re safe now. I’ve got you, and I’ll get you some place warm soon.”

Sherlock heard two words. Warm soon.


	3. Relocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. John Watson

~~~

Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia 

 

John had gotten them to a semblance of safety, but what he needed was to get them the hell out of Russia. That wasn’t going to happen for at least another four days or so, John finished bandaging his assets ribs, and moved to the burns on his thighs. They were not too deep and had basically cauterized themselves but they still needed to be cleaned and dressed. John worked slowly. Methodically. His patient could have internal burns from the electrocution, so the less the movement the better. The man hadn’t properly woken up since this ordeal began. His eyes flickered showing flashes of green and blue, like opal. A green eyed brunette naked beneath him. John huffed a rueful laugh. His assets injuries were harsh and he needed rest. So John settled next to the bed in the one room lodge and studied the sleeping figure before him. God he was young. As John had patched him up he’d wished he’d killed the Russian’s more slowly. There was also a lot of old scarring and John quickly found himself wanting to find the people who’d hurt this man and hurt them worse. To defile skin like that, so uniquely beautiful. John’s mobile brought him out of his thoughts before he had time to ponder them any deeper.

“Hello J.”

“Mercy.”

“How’s our asset?”

“Battered, but nothing I couldn’t fix. He’ll be fine in a few days.”

“You need to be ready to move at a moments notice. This is far from over.” Mercy was stern.

“Copy that. I’ll contact you once we relocate.”

“Good luck J.” 

“Thank you Mercy.”

John looked out the window, and saw everything in an instant. Cameras, trip wires, motion detectors. Good. He could relax for a bit. He took a quick nap. After he pulled up the dossier from Mercy. 

Sherlock Holmes. Age 27. Iq 190. Holy hell! John whistled through his teeth. He glanced over at the genius, and found those unusual eyes trained on him. Right then. First contact John thought.

“Hello Mr. Holmes.” John stood at attention under the stern appraisal. How are you feeling?” No response, just a deeper furrow to an already furrowed brow. “You must be starving.”

“MI6.” His voice was low and full of gravel. But there was something to it, in it. “Spy. No, assassin. Wrong...”

John held his hand up for silence, his asset apparently was a genius because he shut his mouth and seemed to come to attention. John signaled for him to get down and picked up his L96A1, he turned off the only light in the room and stepped out onto the porch that lined the front of the lodge. John looked through his scope and quickly found eight Russian’s, fanned out three hundred yards from the lodge. John had to commend them for upping their numbers, but it would do them no good. He waited for his first trip wire to be discovered, and his second to be totally unexpected. John smiled as the explosion took out two of the would be assaillants. Bullets then began to cut through the air and pelt the wall to John’s left and right. Un phased he raised his sniper rifle and deftly took out the remaining targets. Because that’s all they were. Targets. Nothing more.

John went back in and was greeted by his asset, bearly holding himself up on the door frame yet dressed in coat, boots and ready to go. John hated that he had to move the man so soon, but there would be more Russian’s coming and John wanted his man safely away from harm. John, grabbed his go bag and his asset, wrapping his arm around a narrow waist and half carrying him to the Land Rover, out back. Time to relocate.


	4. Hasty Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s in the title.

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. So, BAMF John. To fully understand just how bad ass he really is I thought I’d give you some facts. Enjoy.

~~~

 

“What’s this, a group rated higher than the SEALs? Indeed. The British Special Air Service was created in 1941 as a force which could operate behind German and Italian lines and support resistance movements against the occupation forces. Understandably, the force is made up of British military personnel with the most coming from the airborne forces. Physical requirements are harsh and require a lot of marching with full packa. This culminates in a 40 mile march with a full pack that must be finished in 20 hours. Candidates must also be able to swim two miles in an hour and a half and run four miles in 30 minutes. After this, you get dropped in the jungle to learn survival and navigational skills, after which you endure survival practice. The final test is a 36-hour interrogation session meant to break the candidate’s will. The handful who make it through this get transferred to an operation force for further training. Not convinced this is ‘better’ than the SEALs? It may help you to know that the SAS is also trained by MI5 and MI6 security and intelligence services to undertake counter-espionage operations. It’s like having a SEAL and James Bond all rolled into one.”

https://www.therichest.com/rich-list/the-biggest/top-10-most-dangerous-special-forces-around-the-world/

 

~~~

A Hasty Departure 

John, tossed the go bag in the back seat of the Land Rover and helped his asset to the passenger side. He walked back around and settled in the driver side. 

“You alright Sir?” John asked.

“Fine. What the hell!” Sherlock fairly screamed as John shoved a hypodermic needle into his thigh.

John watched his assets eyes widen with shock and then flutter shut. 

~~~

 

John had long ago found that sometimes it was necessary to drug his assets for one reason or another. In this case it had been for the mans safety and comfort. As it turned out it had also save his asset from a long and dangerous ride and spared him having to watch John kill two fake Russian soldiers, at a fake Russian check point. So as he watched the man slowly coming to, he was confident that the ends justified the means. Let’s hope his asset felt the same.

~~~

 

“You drugged me!” Sherlock’s voice was low and accusatory from across the room. 

“It turned out to be a bit of a rough ride Sir. I thought to spare you.” John spoke without turning away from the window.

“Yes, well let it never be said that I’m incapable of handling a rough ride.” Sherlock cast a sidelong glance searching for reaction. 

John thought he would bite his tongue clean off in his efforts to keep from commenting on the more then obvious double meaning. Did this man know he was playing with fire?

Sherlock smirked at the slight stiffening of the soldiers back. He’d only laid eyes on his savior briefly, but sparks were quick like that weren’t they? Burning out forgotten in seconds, with no danger whatsoever, or igniting an uncontrollable blaze. Sherlock wanted to throw himself into the flames.

“Where are we then?” Sherlock painfully pulled himself up to a sitting position on the cot he’d been placed on.

“Finland.” John left the window he’d been looking out and brought his asset a bottle of water.

“Interesting choice.”

“Mmm. Yes well, needs must. “

“I’m Sherlock Holmes, by the way.”

“I am....intimately aware of who you are Sir.” John felt his pulse kick up at the thought of intimacy. Now he was getting drawn into the game this kitten was playing.

“Well then I think the time for formality has passed don’t you?” Sherlock looked over at the table were John had started work on his laptop.

“No Sir, I don’t.” Was he serious! What was he playing at? 

“Solider to the core then is it? Alright then. Have it your way. You’re a doctor, I see.”

“Among other things. Captain John Watson, of The Regiment, Sir.”

“Ahh. SAS. You’re fairly dangerous.” Sherlock said with a tone.

John stayed silent. And although fairly dangerous was a literally laughable descriptions of his skill, John could tell that some how this man knew that. Fairly dangerous was one wolf. John was a pack of Alpha’s. Mercy’s words from their time in Kandahar, or was it Kabul, not his. Time to change the subject.

“How are you feeling Sir?” 

“Irrelevant. Why are we here, and not out there hunting the proverbial bad guys?”

“It is relevant. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here. So, again how are you feeling?” John’s voice was firm and brokered no argument.

Sherlock paused, on the edge of saying something glib, he wasn’t accustom to being told what to do, and even less so with actually complying.

“My chest hurts, and I’m...hungry. And my shoulder burns.” So this simple admission came as a bit of a shock.

John walked over and sat on the stool next to the cot. 

“May I?” 

He asked and Sherlock nodded his answer, before stripping Sherlock’s white button up off his shoulders. Sherlock was struck more clearly now then he had been the first time, by John’s gental roughly calloused hands, he found the contrast intriguing. Sherlock was also acutely aware of everything else about the man before him. His sent of oak moss and spice warmed by his skin, Sherlock watched in tranced by the muscles in John’s forearm as he cleaned and redressed his shoulder, he decided then and there that he would have him. It wasn’t often that Sherlock took a lover, because so few men aroused his curiosity let alone anything else. But this man was danger, power, and sex, delicately tending his wounds.

“Tell me, why do the Russian’s want you?” John asked as he worked.

“Uranium. They need a theoretical physicist.”

“And you’re skilled in that area?” 

“I’m skilled in *all* areas.” There was no mistaking the connotations this time.

John was quit. His hands stopped. He sat up straight. He turned his head a bit and pursed his lips, eyes narrowed and hard. 

“Are you trying to bait me?” 

“Bait you? No. Bed you? Yes.”


	5. Relocate (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooo yeah. Our boys can’t seem to get settled.

Did he just...?

John’s mobile buzzed.

“J, you need to move. Now! They’re sending a team your way.”

“How much time do I have?” John was on his feet, his asset struggled a bit to do the same, and began to redress himself.

“Twenty minutes max.”

“Good more then enough time.” John pulled his L9A1 from the small of his back and checked the clip.

“Where will you go?” Mercy asked.

“Back into the heart of the lions den. Safest place to be, and the fastest place to end this. Is the helicopter ready?” 

“Fully fueled and ready when you are. You’re a madman. Good luck J.”

“Thank you Mercy.”

John snatched up his go back, gun in hand and gently gathered up his asset. John looked right into Sherlock’s eyes.

“This is going to be painful, but I need you to move quickly. Can you do that for me?” Sherlock gave a curt nod. “Don’t worry about the pain. I’ll ease it when we get where we’re going yeah?” Another nod. “Good. Let’s move.”


	6. Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We left our boys on the run. This is the run.

So, here we are. Before we run off together you should know that this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and masturbation. We all know who’s responsible for the violence. I wonder who’s responsible for the rest?

 

~~~

 

John felt awful as he checked them into the InterContnintal Hotel Moscow. His asset stood back and to John’s left pale, and sweaty, the pain was obviously taking its toll. And yet he stood there silent and resolute. John felt a surge of respect for the man.

Once in the room Sherlock sat himself down gingerly, and tried not to wence. Helicopter rides where not known for there comfort. Coupled with the fact that John had made him run full tilt across an open clearing with John at his back L96A1 in hand the whole time sweeping the area. John did a quick check of the room, finding nothing out of place. Now he could focus on the reason he was here.

“Up you get.” John put his arm under Sherlock’s arms and hefted him up. His breathing was shallow and his lags wobbly. He fell into John’s arms gracelessly. John took his weight with ease and helped him into bed. Sherlock let himself be handled, he found that he had come to trust this man, and knew that he would be gentle and effective. Sherlock wondered if that’s the kind of lover he would be as well? Sherlock hoped not. He half laughed at the thought, when John’s words began to mash with his thoughts.

“What was that you said?” Sherlock had to ask.

“I said, can you get undressed yourself or do you need my help?”

“And here I thought you’d taken a vow of celibacy.” Sherlock made some airy hand motion from his back on the bed.

John loomed above standing by the bed and looked down at him. “Your wounds need to be cleaned and redressed. Sir.”

Sherlock gave a sigh. “Dull. Fine.” He rolled his eyes. 

John suppressed a laugh, that died when he read the pain in Sherlock’s face as he tried to move. 

“No, just be still, I’ve got you.” John helped the wounded man strip down to his pants and went to work. His knee was swollen and red, but red was good, and to be expected after the day they’d had. The burns on his thighs and sides where healing nicely, his shoulder was not. The color was off and it was obviously infected. Fuck. John knew he couldn’t continue to run with this man. He needed rest and proper medical treatment, and if he didn’t get those things soon then the whole exfill will have been pointless because he’d be dead. 

“My shoulder is infected isn’t it?” Sherlock asked sluggishly as the drugs began to closed his eyes.

“Yes it is.” John sat by the bed his forearms resting on his thighs hands clasped between his legs.

“What dose the doctor order then?” Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to hear John’s answer.

He sat there for an hour or so, watching the man sleep as had become his custom. He looked to John like one of those Italian cherubs all grownup. Very grown up. And very tempting. John had never slept with one of his assets. It wasn’t his style, he was more then capable of bedding whoever, whenever. So sleeping with someone in a vulnerable situation (which most of his assets where in) was less then appealing. But this brash genius was in fact baiting him. John sighed. What to do?

“Mercy, I need to come in.”

“Are you injured J?” 

“No, but my asset can’t keep pace like this.”

“Understood. Novgorod, is the closest safe house. But that means getting back out of Moscow safety.”

“See you in twelve hours Mercy.” She could hear the smile in John’s voice.

“Good luck J.”

“Thank you Mercy.”

The three operatives on their floor were glaringly obvious. One cleaning woman with a Luger. She came into the room pushing her cart hand resting conspicuously on her weapon under a towel. John snapped her neck from behind before she got well into the room. Then there were two elevator maintenance workers that were far to well build for the job. John backed his asset into the corner of the elevator and went to work. Breaking the leg of one, a right hand swinging back fist to the face of the other man, as John pulled his knife with his left and stabbed the first man twice in the throat, he pulled the other assaillent towards him plunging the knife into his chest. John moved his asset the the front of the elevator and off to the side. The doors opened to the basement garage black and silent. The fire fight that insured left John’s asset with a graze wound to his neck and a murderous rage that caused John to holster his L9A1, and physically go after the man who’d shot him. The fight was brief and brutal culminating in the mans face being smashed to pulp on the concrete floor. 

 

~~~

 

When they reached the safe house they were greeted by Mercy, and Harbinger, the senior officer on site, and a full medical team at John’s request. His asset was carted off and properly tended to. 

 

“When he’s better we’ll implement a plan. For now I need you to take this time to get some rest as well.” Harbinger, John’s commanding officer held up her hand at John’s attempt at a protest. "You've been in the field without a break for eight months. Even Judgment takes a holiday sometimes.”

 

Four days passed. His asset slept, ate and healed. By day four Sherlock was himself again, a man that John had never really seen. John went to Sherlock's room to tell him he was wanted in a meeting so they could formulate a strategy. The safe house was actually a hotel, so when John entered Sherlock's rooms and didn't find him in the main room, he moved about until he heard the sound of the shower. The door to the loo was wide open and perfectly aligned with the shower itself. The shower door was made of distorted glass but only managed to come up midway to the occupant's shoulders. John stood a little ways back from the door unable to look away. Sherlock turned in the steaming hot water and met johns gaze. His unruly curls were slick off his face, lashes wet, and skin pink from the heat. At the site of John standing there watching him Sherlock’s mind raced with possibilities. The one he settled on made him smile a wicked crooked little smile. John heard the hiss of breath sucked through Sherlock’s teeth as he touch himself, John could see the motion of Sherlock’s right hand through the blurred glass sliding down his lean angular body that John had become very familiar with and that hand begin to move. Sherlock bit his lower lip, and looked down his wet body, his left hand gripped the shower door, he looked back up at John, his breath was sharp, he closed his eyes and arched his back, his right hand moved faster, he looked back at John through half lowered wet lashes mouth open panting, huffing, his hand gripped the glass tighter, he sucked in one ragged breath after another, after another his head rolled back, his body jerked, his eyes fluttered and came back to rest on John who stood stone still. Watching. His breath was jerky, peppered with low moans, half cut off, Sherlock licked his lips, and tilted his head back whining soft low over and over one word. John. So sweet on wet lips. His grip on the glass door was the only thing that kept him from falling as his release claimed his whole body. Sherlock bit down on his lip red and swollen and nearly double over in jerky convulsions. He hung his head mouth open perfectly spent and looked up at John through his lashes with sparkling devilish eyes trying to regain his breath. John broke the silence. 

“Harbinger, wants to see you.” John managed to sound board.

Sherlock still panting smiled, because no matter how board John may have sounded, there was no mistaking the raging erection filling out his black cargo pants.

“I’ll need a minute.” Sherlock sounded pleased as punch.

John turned to leave and turned back just as Sherlock stepped out of the shower. John approche him with clenched fist opening and closing. John got right up in his face.

“Just so you know. When all this is over, when we’re done here. I’m going to fuck that smug look off your face. Sir.”

Sherlock felt a slight shiver as John turned and left.


	7. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I recall our boys were on their way to a men yes.

John’s rooms were naturally right across from his assets. They had been on the run together for nearly two weeks and even this small amount of distance felt wrong. But what was John supposed to say? “I can’t be that far away from him so I’ll just be sleeping in here thank you very much.” Fuck. What the fuck. Now he was standing here in his room with his back against the door looking down at his cock as if it had willfully betrayed him. This was never going to go away on its own. John had always been a man in control of his body, hell he was a surgeon for fuck sake, not to mention one of the most accurate shots in England, now this waif, this sinful cherub, this kitten had him wanking violently in the dark of his room before an important meeting. Had he not felt every bone in his body was about to snap from the force of his orgasm he would have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

 

~~~

 

John walked into the meeting a few minutes after Sherlock’s arrival. 

“Nice of you to join us J.” Harbinger offered the words as John took his chair. 

“Mmm.” Was his only response.

If Sherlock weren’t a smart man he would have burst out laughing at the obviously frustrated bear that was John Watson. But a healthy dose of caution and intelligence kept him silent. Good thing too, because the look John gave him was a calm before the storm if ever Sherlock had seen one. 

“Mercy, if you wouldn’t mind.” Harbinger gesture to the wall of a computer screen.

Mercy’s wheelchair glided soundlessly across the floor, and Sherlock took this time to study the woman he’d overheard John speaking with more then once. Their conversations were short and to the point but there had been an easy intimacy between them that Sherlock couldn’t pin down until now. Sister. She clicked a few buttons and detailed the case up till now.

“In short, the Russian’s need you Mr. Holmes. The uranium’s not going to enrich itself.” Mercy came back to her spot at the table. 

“With that said, the best course of action is to use you to draw them out, find the location of the uranium...an..”

“What? No.” John looked at the other three people at the table as if they’d lost their minds.

“Is there a problem with *my*plan J?” Harbinger questioned.

“No Ma’am. It’s just risky, putting an asset in the field, is all.” John felt her scrutiny but did not buckle.

“Well good for us we have a man for that.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Do you know who that man is?”

“Yes Ma’am.” John wasn’t good at contrite so why bother.

“Go on then.” Harbinger sounded less then encouraging, indicating that John should tell her who that man was.

“I am, Ma’am.” John said the words short, chopped.

“Yes, you are. Now if for some reason, you are unable to finish the mission, then I can assign another agent to take your place.”

John was glad he was sitting,because it was easy to slide his hands under the table into his lap and clench his fist without being noticed. Another agent? It was the words “take your place” that John truly took umbrage with. John would sooner die then see another agent between himself and Sherlock Holmes.

“No Ma’am, that won’t be necessary. I think I’ll see this one through to the end.” John smiled the way one dose just before they do something satisfyingly wrong.

Sherlock couldn’t wait for the case to end.


	8. A Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understanding

“J, a moment.” The meeting had ended with a ruff plan and Sherlock and Mercy headed their separate ways. Harbingers voice stopped John and he turned back to face her. “Our main objective is to retrieve the uranium. Everything else is secondary. I’m sure Her Majesty, can manage with one less subject at the end of the day.”

“Understood.” John’s answer was true. But understanding and compliance are two different things.

“Good.”

 

~~~

There are times when an assets life becomes expendable. Most likely because they are no longer central to the mission, or they have become an obstacle to the main objective. Of course John could see where Sherlock’s usefulness could end in this particular instance. He could even see the possibility for Sherlock to become a liability. What John could not see was allowing any harm to come to his asset. No matter how tits up things may go, Sherlock Holmes (if no one else) was getting out of this alive. Period.

 

~~~

The door to Sherlock’s rooms were slightly open. Odd that. John pulled his weapon, and stepped inside.

Sherlock appeared in the loo doorway speaking to John without missing a beat.

“When do we leave? Why are you pointing your gun at me?” Sherlock asked slightly quizzical, but with no fear.

John dropped his gun to his side and ran a hand over his face. “Why...is your door open?” 

Sherlock looked at him with confused annoyance. “I was expecting you.” John half thought he was going to say “duh” afterwards. “When are we leaving?” He pressed.

John shook his head. He had nearly killed him but that fact seemed less important to Sherlock then their departure date.

“In a day or two.” John replaced his L9A1 at the small of his back.

“What! Oh bloody hell I’ll enrich the uranium for them just to get out of here.” Sherlock huffed like a petulant child and threw himself into a nearby chair. 

John laughed. It was a lovely throaty vibration that took Sherlock by surprise. He could get use to invoking that sound. “Drink with me.”

“That would be...” John looked down shoved one hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck with the other.

“Oh please don’t say inappropriate.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. “You and I are given to impropriety, a drink hardly seems nefarious.”

John laughed and shook his head considered this for a moment. “Fine, but if you try anything, I’ll put you on your ass.”

“And that’s suppose to be a deterrent? John have you not been paying attention?” Sherlock drawled with a little suggestive sideways grin that John had come to realize ment trouble. 

“I have. But have you? I’m not entirely sure you understand what you’re playing at here.” John had walked to the bar and pored two glasses of scotch, handing one to Sherlock as he took a seat across from him. 

“Well that’s just it then isn’t it John. I’m not playing.” Sherlock sipped his drink, and gave John a look.

John tilted his head sideways and studied the piece of work in front of him for a moment. He had to admit, Sherlock Holmes was magnificent, and he had more then gotten under John’s skin. “Alright then. Gloves off.” He up ended his glass, and stood.

“Is that all? Just gloves?” Sherlock made a pretty pout and watched John approach his chair.

John braced his hands on either side of Sherlock’s chair and leaned down to brush his lips against Sherlock’s ear. “Patience...” John drugged the word out breathy and low. “Is a virtue Kitten.” John pulled away slowly allowing their cheeks to brush, lips just barely missing as he withdrew. John smiled when he heard Sherlock’s breath hitch. “Goodnight.” John winked and shut the door softly on his way out.


	9. After...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences

Sherlock sat in the spot where John had left him. Eyes close fingers steepled and resting lightly on his lips, trying to breath evenly, trying to think properly and trying to ignore the erection that was sucking all the blood from his brain. 

 

~~~

John stood in his room feeling both triumphant and defeated all at once. Sherlock Holmes had been taught a lesson. But the cost was high. Another agonizing erection, and no one to share it with. Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.


	10. Back To Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans and things...

J.” Mercy, knocked and pushed his door open.

“Hey.” John had just pulled a fresh black t-shirt on after his shower. “Come on in. What’s up?”

“Harbinger wants us back. But I wanted to give you a heads up on the plan. Not only are you not going to like it, you’re going to hate it.”

“Right then. Out with it.” John put the rest of his kit on, knife in his boot, one on his hip, L9A1, in the small of his back, 9mm shoulder holster. 

“You’re to go back into the field the both of you, as if you’re still on the run from the Russians, and when they come for you...” She hesitated looking for words that would some how make this acceptable.

“Mercy?” John said with a warning.

“When they come for you...you’re to let them take him. Not go after them, not save him. Just allow it.” She waited for the slow rolling boil that was John’s anger.

“Ahaha!” John laughed with not one ounce of humor.

“And that’s exactly why I needed to tell you ahead of time. So that you didn’t laugh outright in Harbingers face.” 

“To hell with Harbinger!” John was vehement.

“She’s your commanding officer J.”

“She’s my suggesting officer. No one commands the SAS. They give suggestions. And this is a bad one.”

He was in fact right. Members of the SAS, worked independently unless they were working in a group, but that group was still it’s own governing body. But now was not the time to add credence to John’s argument.

“It’s a smart plan, and if you didn’t fancy him...”

“I don’t fancy him!”

“If you didn’t fancy him brother,” Mercy kept talking over John’s bullshit denial. “You would agree.”

“FUUCK!” John clinched his fist and howled. She was right on all counts. She always was. That’s why they made such an unstoppable force.

"It's the only way to get our hands on the uranium. They won’t hurt him. They need him.”

“They need him.” John said more to himself then his twin, what he wanted to say he needed him, but that was absurd. “Fine. Let’s get back in.”

“Do you want me to get him?” She gesture across the hall.

“No, I got it. Meet you downstairs.”

John took a minute to gather himself before being face to face with Sherlock again. His interest in his asset wasn’t as yet causing him any real trouble, but he needed to sus out what it was about Sherlock that gripped him. His smart ass mouth. His blazing intelligence. His grit. Or was it just his absolute fuckablity. John wished it was only about a shag. But John was a man who knew himself and he knew that this was some how more, there was this tread between them a connection that was more then just want. That’s why he didn’t like the plan. He did fancy his asset, and he certainly didn’t want to put him in harms way again. But he did have a job to do. He would just have to do it differently this time. 

 

~~~

John Watson. John Watson. John Watson. He said it different ways, softer, slowly, deeper. Sherlock lay on his back in bed and rolled the name over in his mind, on his tongue. Enjoying the sound of it, the feel of it, the man behind it. Sherlock wanted to dive into this man, have him do the same figuratively and literally, learn all there was to know about him, spend hours falling into him. Sherlock was intrigued by his desire, and also a little alarmed by it as well. John Watson was a newly discovered entity in his world. A human being that he was drawn to.

 

~~~

 

“Sherlock.” John knocked and opened the door a crack.

“Hello John. How may I help you. Have you come to break me out of this hell hole?” Sherlock gestured dramatically from his reclined position on the bed.

John looked about the room that had once been a fiver star hotel and smiled. Impossible posh boy.

“Not exactly. Finalizing plans, and preparing to move, that should lite a fire under your ass.”

“John please don’t mention my ass unless you have lecherous intent behind it.” Sherlock got up and joined John as he held the door open for him.

“You don’t quite do you?” John was surely feeling lecherous at the moment.

“No. I don’t. And when the time comes, I sincerely hope you won’t either.” It was Sherlock’s turn to wink and walk away.

John’s cheeked huffed and he blew out a breath running a hand over his face, dangerously close to yet another unrequited erection.


	11. Five Hours And Counting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. This chapter tho relatively short is dedicated to the positively brilliant PATPRECIEUX. She is a force and if you’ve not read her work all I can say is...what the hell!? Treat yourself. Anywho, if you look closely you’ll see my little bit of theft from dear Pat, I hope she won’t press charges.

 

“Good, everyone’s here.” Herbinger, began. “Let’s hammer out the details and get to work. Mr. Holmes...”

“Herbinger,” John stood, his self possession and authority radiated. “I think you know that all the yes Ma'am and subordinate behavior were a courtesy. With that said, I'll take point from here.”

Harbinger, looked a bit put out but nodded all the same. “Yes Sir.”

“Sherlock, you know the first part of the the plan the rest is simple...” John wasn’t surprised he was cut off.

“The rest is obvious. I’m to be used as bait. It makes the most sense and it’s clearly the easiest way to get to the uranium.” Sherlock said as plainly as ordering afternoon tea.

“And thats why I love him.” John thought as naturally as breathing, before the second thought of “Ho-ly Fuck!” blared in his head.

“J?” Mercy’s voice cut through the buzz in John’s ears.

“Sorry, *just away with the fairies* there for a minute. Yes Sherlock of course you are correct. But there will be a team, my team in place as well as myself at the ready to come and get you, once we know where the uranium is located. So do whatever they say, keep smart ass to a minimum...”

“I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap John.” Sherlock was smiling enjoying his clever jibe, but it was short lived.

John slammed his fist down on the table causing everything on it and everyone around it to jump. In contrast his voice was low as he spoke with his head hung and eyes closed. “Give us the room.” 

Mercy who never allowed herself to be pushed gestured for Harbinger to do just that, who was more then happy to oblige.

Once they were out of the room John walked over to Sherlock and took his up turned face in his hands and took Sherlock’s mouth with a soul deep fury. He sucked the breath form the mans lungs, licking his tongue inside Sherlock’s mouth possessively and biting his lips red in a hungry assault. Sherlock moaned and arched closer reaching, but John broke the contact.

“You will do exactly as I say.” John cupped Sherlock’s face like precious bone China his voice hot and urgent his chest heaved in time with Sherlock’s. “You will not put a toe out of place without my say so, and I will come for you. I will come for you with the force of the gods behind me. Do you hear me?!”

Sherlock looked up at John in awe and only nodded, completely and utterly incapable of speech.

“Say it!” No argument.

“Yes John.” It was a whisper.

~~~

“Cardinal.” John spoke toward the speaker in the center of the table.

“Hello J.” A woman’s smooth coy voice answered. She was John’s second. Red lipped and deadly. Her call sign should have been Viper.

“You busy?” John was curt.

“For you J? Never. Where do you want me?” She was suggestive. She was always suggestive.

“Moscow.”

“Shall I gather the rest of the team then?”

“Please.”

“Pope’s in Egypt.”

“I know. As long as you can get hold of Bishop and Voltaire we’ll be fine.”

“Copy that. See you in five hours.”

“Thank you Cardinal.”

John cut the call. His team, team Methos, were never far from one another when they weren’t working together. Pope, was the exception to that rule. Always going a bit rouge. But that was fine with John, he was Cardinal’s right hand, and if she could do without him then so be it. The four of them against how ever many Russian’s there may be didn’t stand a hope in hell. Pope would have just be over kill.


	12. The Lure

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. First let me say sorry for the long gap between chapters, I just got out of jail for stealing from PATPRECIEUX, in that last bit. ;) But really, I do apologize. 2018 came in like a Cold East Wind, and I’ve been caught up in it. From now on I’ll do my level best to publish a little faster. A little.

Second, this chapter is dedicated to the very talented Breath4Soul. If the “Angry Birds” bit makes you laugh it’s all B4S, not me. She was gracious enough to beta this for me, and lend me some of her insights, she was and is fabulous. Whatever mistakes remain are mine, and mine alone. 

When last we saw our boys, John was reluctantly headed back into the field with Sherlock as the lure. Now...

 

 

The abandoned warehouse John had parked them behind was the epitome of cliche. But then again Sherlock had to admit it was cliche for a reason. Abandoned warehouses were the perfect place for clandestine activities, and wayward vagabonds both in real life and in every poorly (or well) written story they were featured in. This gave Sherlock a wicked idea.

“John?” Sherlock turned abruptly to face the man in question.

“Yes.” John answered slow and cautious without looking up. 

“Coitus Ensues.” Sherlock leaned over into John’s space just shy of intimate and waited for his confusion.

John’s brow wrinkled at the electrical charge that ran unseen between them, yet continued to look down at the iPad he was working on finalizing instructions and the plan of attack with his team “I’m sorry about that just finishing up a level of “Angry Birds” there, what was that now love?” John sat the iPad on the dashboard and faced Sherlock with a dazzling smile as he reached in the back for his L96A1.

“Coitus Ensues, I thought since we’re dealing in cliches and tropes isn’t with the warehouse and all, it was the obvious point in the story where the main couple that would be us, has sex for no other reason then the sex itself.” Sherlock’s eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Your modesty died screaming didn’t it?” John chuckled.

“I wouldn’t know, my sinfulness was laughing to loudly for me to hear.” Sherlock tilted his head back to rest on the seat and awaited John’s response.

“Sherlock.” John fixed him with a wolffish deep blue stare that came to rest on Sherlock’s lush mouth. “You are fucking perfection.” John put a hand on Sherlock's jawline cupping his face and slowly rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over Sherlock’s slightly parted plush bottom lip transfixed by the motion as he spoke. “As much as I wish that I could bend you over this seat and fuck you to tears, we have a mission and I need you in full control of that brilliant mind of yours.” Before John could drop his hand away Sherlock caught the tip of John’s thumb between his lips and sucked gently, John shut his eyes and pulled a hiss like breath through his teeth. Sherlock licked his tongue over the rough digit for good measure. John let his eyes drift open and held Sherlock in his lust filled gaze, a slow half cocked smile set hot butterflies in motion in Sherlock's stomach. The moment was more powerful then Sherlock could bear and he quickly sought to change the mood suddenly fully aware of the fire he’d been playing with.

“Do you mean to imply that your sexual prowess is greater then my intellect?” Sherlock asked through mild laughter. 

“Not at all love...” John’s voice pitched low.

“Why love? It’s not true.” Sherlock said with a nervous chuckle and looked away. 

“But it could be.” John leaned in and placed two fingers under Sherlock’s chin. “Now, shut that pretty mouth of yours and let’s get to work yeah.” John let his hand slid to the back of Sherlock’s neck and smoothly pulled him forward to pressed a lingering kiss to said pretty mouth and then just as smoothly departed the Land Rover, L9A1 in hand, L96A1 across his chest, 9mm in his shoulder holster. 

 

~~~

John set about staging the warehouse with Sherlock’s help as if they had been there for days and not an hour. He then setup traps and trip wires that would funnel the Russians in the direction John wanted them.

“I thought the plan was to allow myself to be captured? This looks more like a kill box.”

“Beauty and brains. It only takes one Russian to spirit you away. The rest of them will die trying.” John smiled.

 

~~~

The Russians came in force. Some of them were taken out by John’s traps others by the three silent assassins hidden in the rafters. With the traps sprung and John firmly in control of the situation, team Methos, moved into position to track Sherlock’s location once the Russians had him and were on the move. With only two Russians left standing they stayed well back from where they knew John and Sherlock to be hiding around a corner and tried to flush them out.

“We only want the scientist. Give him to us and we’ll let you go.” The heavy Russian accent echoed off the walls.

"Thanks for the offer, but fuck off just the same!” John lowered his voice to speak to Sherlock. “We stay here and make them come to us." John spoke in a whisper and then put his finger to his lips and signaled for quite. John moved his L96A1, to his back switching to his hand gun for close combat. He watched Sherlock's face and saw the moment the idea solidified in his mind.

"No. Sherlock. Don't you dare go around that fuckin corner...fuck!” John growled and watched as Sherlock puckered his sinful lips blew John a kiss darted around the corner and ran in the opposite direction of the Russians, who immediately gave chase. John clinched his teeth in blind frustration. Every nerve screamed for him to pursue, protect, and kill, it took more effort then John could have imagined to stay put long enough for the Russians to catch up to Sherlock. When John did turned the corner it was just in time to see one of the Russians land a vicious blow to the back of Sherlock’s head with the butt of his gun.

“Nooooo!” John bellowed deep and angry and ran forward full tilt with no caution whatsoever and was stopped dead in his tracks as two bullets cut the air hitting him dead center mass, dropping him to the ground, in a flash leaving him with the thought “finally someone with a decent shot.” Pain bloomed across his chest, and a haze of black creeped into his field of vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that just happened. This chapter felt a bit ham fisted to me. I hope it wasn’t too agonizing to read.


	13. Full Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and his team.

John blinked back darkness as a woman’s voice with barely checked panic at its edges called to him. 

“J! J, do you read me? I heard shots fired and then radio silence. J!”

“I’m fine Mercy.” John’s voice was choked with pain but firm. "How long was I out?! Is Methos, on the move?” John sat up on his elbows and then to a sitting position, patting his hands over his chest feeling for damage.

“Methos is on task. You were out two minutes tops. What happened?”

“Oh just me testing the Queens Kevlar. I’m fine. Really. Now get me in touch with team Silas. I want this whole thing wrapped from start to finish in 12 hours or less.” 

John heaved himself to a standing position and ripped off the life saving kevlar vest. No one ever talked about the pain that was left from the impact of the bullets. Kevlar could only do so much and a 9 mm round was nothing to play with. The bruising and cracked ribs. Fuck. But John had no time to dwell on that now. Now, he needed to get Sherlock back. Methos, and Salis could worry about the uranium.

“Silas J? Are you sure? That’s an awful lot of fire power. Methos, is more then capable...”

“Please Mercy.” The words were polite, but Mercy knew her twin, and knew their meaning.

“Yes J.”

“Thank you Mercy.”

~~~

Team Silas, was made up of five more members of the SAS. Call signs Arawn, Odin, Erebus, Viduus, and Anubis. Team Silas, was death. 

~~~

John eased gingerly behind the wheel of the Land Rover and put in the cordants for team Methos location. Then he made a call. The exchange between the two men was brisk, but not unfriendly.

“Judge. Mercy told me to look for your call.”

“Odin.” John kept his greeting short.

“What’s this about then?” 

“Exfill and recovery. High value target, British citizens and uranium.”

“Hello, sounds brilliant. But it’s just myself and Erebus. The rest of the boys are scattered like the wind.” Odin’s tone was jovial. 

“You and Erebus are more then enough. I want this as quick and clean as possible.”

“Mercy says this ones close to the vest.” The man called Odin waited for John’s reply.

“A bit.” John wouldn’t say more.

“I’ll contact Cardinal.” That was conformation enough for Odin.

“Thank you Odin.”

John, ended the call and pushed the gas pedal of the Land Rover to the floor boards. 

~~~

The research facility was small and unassuming, if you over looked the triple layers of security and the armed guard just inside the door. There was also the fact that it was smack dab in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but trees. Why did they always make it so easy John thought. They could have used stealth, but from the looks of things the facility relied on security here and not man power, so brut force would do just fine. 

“Cardinal come in. Over.” John broke radio silence from his hidden position in the tree line.

“Cardinal here J. Over.”

“Odin come in. Over.”

“Odin, here. Erebus Sir. We read you. Over”

“Good. Let’s keep this simple then shall we. I want to take this place just like we would any other whore. Hard and fast. Over.”

“Copy that Sir. Over” Odin couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice. 

“Copy that J. Over.” Cardinal was smooth and unruffled as ever. 

“Good. Erebus, what do we know? Over.” 

“Outside, two armed guards, in the main lobby two more. There are six 40x26 laboratories with floor to ceiling bulletproof glass windows and door, three on either side of the main level. Each with its own armed guard and six to eight people in each. Presumably scientists. Over.” Erebus rattled off the information with a soldiers precision.

“Talk to me about the subterranean level. Over.” John looked through his scope scanning the building.

“There looks to be a Zippe centrifuge J. Over.”

“And that’s our target. Full breach with extreme prejudice. On my mark. Over.” John pulled his balaclava in place and stepped into the clearing.

“Team Methos Copy. Over.”

“Silas copy. Over.”

John’s mark was to take out both perimeter guards followed by a series of flash bangs, his team behind him like the force of the gods. John had come armed and ready for whatever the Russians had in store. So the locked labs and bulletproof glass posed no obstacle for John’s .454 casull strapped to his thigh. He shot out the door locks as he passed stepping over the guard and tossing in several flash bands. It was hard to tell from that point who did what. The hail of bullets and casings pining to the floor with a hollow metallic ring was a rush of pure adrenaline that pushed John forward to the lift doors. Towards Sherlock.

“Voltaire, if you wouldn’t mind?” Voltaire was Johns explosives expert. If he wasn’t carrying his usual stash of C-4, no worries. Voltaire could take chewing gum, a cotton ball, and your shoelace and make an equally deadly explosive.

John pressed his back against the doors ready to lay down cover fire as Voltaire went to work, but found that it was totally unnecessary. Each lab secured. God he loved his fuckin team.

“Was that hard and fast enough for you J?” Cardinal leaned her shoulder against the wall and tapped her the muzzle of her rifle against her ankle. Red lipped and deadly. 

“I’m nearly there Bird, but not quite.” John never shy with his comebacks. “Full breach. Voltaire.”

Voltaire turned around made a shoeing motion with his gloved hands and took a bow. “Clear in 5...4...3...2...1.”


	14. ...0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I realized far too late that not everyone knows what an L9A1, is. It’s a hand gun, alsoknoew a a Browning L9A1. There is also a L96A1, which is a sniper rifle. In this chapter a Sig Sauer, will be used, it is also a handgun. Sorry again for the late info.

They repelled down the elevator shaft, Bishop cut the roof open using a CO2 laser, each one of them then dropped down into the elevator light as a thistle. Cardinal, Voltaire and Bishop to John’s left (his dominant hand) Odin and Erebus to his right. Bishop flipped out a bald, opened the control panel, and twisted a few wires. He waited for John’s command.

“Grand entrance then. Bishop.” John nodded in his direction. Bishop gave the wires a final twist and the doors slid open.

Chaos erupted all around, John stepped from the lift single minded. Sherlock. L9A1 in hand an extension of himself. 4 bullets 2 Russians down, 8 bullets 4 Russians down, 14 bullets and 7 dead Russians in less then three minutes John had found his asset. One Russian and one bullet stood between them.

“You’re not leaving here with him.” Said the tall burly Russian in a thick accent with a Sig Sauer, pointed at Sherlock’s heart and his arm around Sherlock’s neck, his head ducked right up against Sherlock’s curls in an effort not to get shot.

“I’m not leaving here without him.” John leveled his eyes on Sherlock’s to gage his mental state. What he saw was the defiant spark of Sherlock’s eyes and a smug little half smile. Sherlock tilted his head ever so slightly to the left and raised an eyebrow.

John took the shot and decimated the mans right eye and the back of his head. Blood, bone and brains spattered the right side of Sherlock’s porcelain white face.

John found that in that moment he was more aroused then he had any right to be.

“Did you miss me love?” John approached dropping his spent clip from his Browning and reloading. 

“Desperately.” Sherlock’s smiling reply was cut short by yet another Russian who seeming sprang from thin air. This one smaller and with a knife at Sherlock’s throat as he viciously yanked at Sherlock’s curls pulling his head back in an awkward position.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! YOU STUPID FUCKIN RUSSIAN BASTARDS! DO YOU NEVER GIVE UP?! DID YOU NOT SEE WHAT *JUST* HAPPENED TO THE LAST ONE?!” John screaming in fury his Gaelic accent bleeding through. John shoved his L9A1 in the small of his back and pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from his right boot. “Fine. If this is how you want to die, so be it. I’ll take him from you, slit your throat and watch you bleed out!” John licked his bottom lip, and bared his teeth a boiling rage corsed through John’s vains making him more reckless and more deadly.

The man holding Sherlock shoved him roughly to the ground and kicked him in his side out of the way and then began to circle John in a half crouch knife in hand held out defensively. 

John and the Russian lunged for each other at the exact same time, momentum on the side of whoever seized it. Rage was a powerful motivator, but something more drove John, something else made John drop his own knife and grab the Russian’s right wrist, spin the man around and drive the mans own knife into his throat with a wet crunch. Something else entirely. John let the man fall to the floor and stood back watching him sputter through his last breath.

“I could have you right here, right now.” Hot breath tickled John’s ear and he could feel the proof of Sherlock’s words pressed up against his ass and had to create some space between them before just that happened.

John turned around to face Sherlock. “And I would let you. If it weren’t still mission critical. Now keep what I’m sure is a lovely cock in your trousers for me just a little while longer.”Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed. John nodded and backed away before it was too late.

“Weapons grade uranium anyone?” Odin’s deep voice bellowed as he came into view pulling the yellow cake uranium behind him with the rest of the team following close. “Oi. What’s the hold up then?l” 

“No hold up at all. Methos, Silas, this is Sherlock Holmes.” John gave a slight bow between the two parties. “Now can we please get the fuck out of here?”

 

~~~

 

Novgorod Safe House

 

John sat alone in the conference room with a cuppa waiting for the call. The phone rang.

“Hello J.” Crisp as usual.

“Hello Mercy.”

“Her Majesty sends her thanks, one hell of a lot of money and a final request.”

John had always been very patriotic and loved the work he did for his country, truth be told he would probably do it for free just for the adrenaline rush. But right now in this moment with Sherlock nearly at his fingertips all he wanted was final orders.

“Out with it then.”

“You’re to drop off the uranium in Cork, Ireland. Your asset is to accompany you and be picked up my a member of the British government.” Mercy gave a brief rundown.

“I serve at the pleasure of the Queen. Who’s my contact in Ireland?” John asked.

“A man named Jim Moriarty.”


	15. A Long Time Coming (Double Entendre Implied)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long and dangerous road for our boys, and it seems to be coming to an end. Or is it?

The first two days in Cork, John and Sherlock hardly knew what to do with each other without the constant threat of abduction and torture lurking around every corner. So they settled on drinking, which led to talking. The first night of drinks were had at the bar and the conversation was a calm and welcome change. They settled at a remote table in the beautiful space, silently enjoying the weight of the air between them for a time.

“What will you do? What will you do after all this John?” Sherlock found that he was genuinely curious and could hold back the question no longer.

“I will do...whatever her majesty requires of me, for as long as she requires it. All I ever really wanted to do was serve...”

“And not be board.” Sherlock interjected. “Mercy, convinced you to join her at MI5, then MI6, because she knew surgery would never be enough for you. Thrilling enough for both sides of who you are. She knows you well. From there the two of you became what you are today. Judgment (nothing so pedestrian as justice) and Mercy. She is your sister.” 

“All true. But Mercy, is my twin.”

“Twin! Always! There’s always something. How did I miss twin? Twin!”

“Maybe it had something to do with her blue hair and completely unnecessary glasses.” They laughed.

Sherlock ordered two more cognacs, and they wavered between comfortable silence, clever conversation and enjoying the smooth amber liquid. Sherlock studied John over the rim of his glass form time to time, the smoky sweet heat and John’s presence warming him in a way that was unusual, but not unwanted. What an interesting man this John Watson. He seemed well placed in whatever setting he was dropped into. He seemed well placed in Sherlock’s life odd a notion as that was.

 

~~~

 

The second night of drinks was much the same. But the air that had once been heavy between them, now seemed to almost crackle with intensity. They found themselves pulled into each other's space, fingertips meeting on the bar, knees bumping and then settling between the others. 

“So, Sherlock Holmes, what is it you do out there in the world when you’re not being captured and tortured by Russians?” John asked after he’d settled his knee between Sherlock's at the bar and ordered two glasses of Macallan 18 year old single malt scotch neat. 

“Much the same really.” Sherlock said matter of factly allowing his thigh to rest against John’s.

“So dominatrix then.” John laughed into his up turned glass his pretty blue eyes danced with light. 

“No!” Sherlock chuckled feeling warm and relaxed. "I’m a consulting detective for New Scotland Yard.” 

“Alright then. Is there a Mr. Holmes, waiting for you at home after a long day of consulting?” 

“Would you still sleep with me if there were?” Sherlock knew the answer, John was a rare man and though he had clearly had more then his fair share of partners, few had been attached none had been married and John wanted no parts of infidelity.

“Mmm. Not sure. I’m not usually the type to break up a happy home but if there is a Mr. Holmes, he’s clearly not the man for you.” John, signaled to the bar keep for another round of scotch while he delicately rubbed his fingers over Sherlock’s knuckles.

“Oh. And who is?” Sherlock edged closer seeking those deep blue eyes, John leaned in to meet him just short of a kiss.

“I. Am.” John said with quite confidence and it was the sexiest thing Sherlock had ever herd.

“Ahem. Hello Boys.” A sing song voice interrupted.

Sherlock looked up to find two men, obviously lovers and obviously basking in the afterglow hence the reason for their late arrival. One was tall Sherlock’s height but of a heavier build, blond and blue eyed. Handsome, rugged clearly forced into the suit he was enduring. The other man was smaller, lightly muscled and very at home in his Westwood, good looking but overly posh for Sherlock’s taste. It had been he who’d interrupted them. Sherlock immediately disliked him.

John stood and extended a hand expecting to shake the hand of the man who’d spoken, only to have the blond except his offer. Odd that. John thought, and this put him on high alert, glad for his faithful L9A1 tucked underneath his black turtleneck in the small of his back. Sherlock had already deduced the ex-military man a mile away, but the smaller man was harder to read almost...slippery. 

"Jim Moriarty. Hi.” The man made a gesture towards his partner. “And this is my...well...Sebastian Moran. Say hello Tiger.”

“Hello Tiger.” The blond spoke in a lazy disinterested way.

“Hello. I’m J, and this is William.” John offered. 

“Oh no need for subterfuge Dr. Watson, I’m well aware of who you both are.”

“Not so much subterfuge Mr. Moriarty, as it is cautious apprehension. Force of habit you know.” John wore a chilly smile.

“Yes well one can never be too...” he let the words trail off and waved them away dismissively. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Aren’t you just the bell of the ball. The Russian’s. The Russian’s wanted you. They wanted you very much. How did that feel?”

“Shocking.” Sherlock’s tone was frigid and his dislike of the man named Jim Moriarty cemented.

Jim laughed at Sherlock’s cool demeanor but the sound was less like laughter and more like nails on a chalkboard. “I have a colleague who whole heartedly believes that brainy is the new sexy. From where I’m standing sexy, is the new sexy. Or is it the old sexy?” Jim seemed to direct the last part of the question more to himself then everyone else. “We should all sit, don’t you think?” Jim, started off towards a table by the window. Once they were all seated he continued to address his questions to Sherlock. 

“Sooo. You have something for me?” Jim lightly drummed his fingers on the table and licked his lips in a wolfish grin. It was clear he wasn’t asking about uranium. John tried not to frown at the Irishman but it was becoming harder to ignore his tone.

“I’m sure I don’t Mr. Moriarty.” Sherlock felt formality was the best approach with his man.

“Oh don’t be so dull. Je suis sur que Johnny Boy et Seb, ici peuvent partir quelque part et parler armes ou de leurs muscles, pendant que vous et moi avons une conversation plus intime. 

(“I’m sure Johnny boy and Seb, here can go off somewhere and talk about their guns or their muscles while you and I have a more intimate conversation.”) Whatda you say?” Jim bit his bottom lip and smiled. 

Jim had lapsed into French certain Sherlock would understand. He had of course but still. Rude, even in Sherlock’s eyes and that was saying something. What Jim hadn’t bargained for was that John would too. 

“What makes you think I understood a word you just said?” Sherlock asked more then a little annoyed now.

“Et qu’est-ce qui vous fait penser que je n’ai pas?”  
(“And what makes you think I didn’t?”) John tilted his head and waited for an answer. 

“Oh, I see. Well I saw to begin with but it was worth a try. Boring.” 

“Sorry to disappoint Mr. Moriarty.” John pushed away from the table and stood, Sherlock right beside him. “Here are the keys to the armored truck.” John pushed them across the table to Sebastian who nodded his thanks. “I think we’re done here yeah.” John and Sherlock didn’t wait for a response.

 

~~~

“That was...” Sherlock began. “Troubling.”

“Disturbing.” Their words overlapped and they smiled at the similarities.

“Now what?” Sherlock asked as they walked the hall leading to their rooms.

“Now I make a call.”

 

~~~

Once they entered John’s rooms he took out his mobile and placed a call. Sherlock ambled around taking off his jacket and pouring himself a drink. John’s eyes were on him the whole time and he knew it so he embellished his gestures a bit. Removing his jacket with his back to John so that the silhouette of his frame and his bottom would show to advantage, trailing his elegant fingers lightly over the liquor decanters as he made his choice, raking his fingers through his curls and rubbing the back of his neck. Small things but incredibly powerful.

The phone call continued in the background. 

 

“Hello J.” 

“Hello Mercy. The uranium is officially out of our hands. Although I can’t say I’m sure of it’s safety.” 

“It’s safety is no longer our problem. For the moment. The rooms at the Maryborough are yours for as long as you want them. Her majesty thanks you for your service. Until next time.”

“However long that may be.”

“I give it a week.” 

“Oh Mercy, ever the optimism.”

“Do tell Sherlock goodbye for me if you see him.”

John watched Sherlock’s ever move and imagined his muscles moving and tensing under his touch.

“I think I can do that. Goodbye Mercy.”

“Goodbye J.”

With the call ended John just stood there for awhile and let the reality of the moment settle in. The case was over, and he’d made a promise. 

“You were saying?” John pored himself a drink, up ended the glass and sat it back down. 

“I was saying now what?” Sherlock tried to sound innocent. 

“Now?” John paused for a moment to enjoy the picture of pent up desire in front of him. “Now I plan on deconstructing you and fucking you speechless.”

“Oh, how very much I’d like to feel you try.” 

John laughed and rushed him. Grabbing Sherlock hard pulling him close by his clothes his arms, his hair, anything within reach in a savage kiss. This was the kiss John had been longing for since Sherlock’s little shower stunt. Their hands fought to grip and grind into each other. John finding Sherlock’s bottom and pressing into him. Sherlock moved his hands over John’s face and neck and shoulders.

“Christ you’re perfect...”John groned out the words into Sherlock’s mouth. “Take your clothes off.” 

There was no awkwardness. No fumbling, their motions were a study in perfection. John was first to shed his clothes and the sight of him naked and hard, stopped Sherlock cold. Holy fuck. Sherlock blinked for a moment stunned at the sight. He’d known, of course he’d known, but seeing was....mouthwatering. Sherlock came back to himself. He disrobed more slowly now, touching his own body in enticing ways and places making a show of his nudity. John was going to be formidable. But not yet, first he would have to endure. 

Sherlock, backed against the wall nearest the bed and braced his legs apart, he let his hands travel his body and caress himself as he held John’s wrapped attention. Sherlock watched John’s eyes follow his every move and the man looked ready to pounce. Sherlock never gave up control to his lovers, ever. Everything that happened only took place if he allowed it. Orchestrated it. Getting people to do what he wanted was one of his many specialty’s and in the bedroom was no different. But here now in this moment, he wanted to surrender himself to his urges. And to John’s. Endurance be damned!

“I want you in my mouth...” But the words were lost in the action. Sherlock gagged in his hungry rush to have all of John in his mouth at once. He pulled back and took John’s shaft more slowly, over and over until he adjusted to John’s size, until he was pressing his mouth against John’s balls and felt the sting of tears in his eyes. John cursed and his legs trembled with the sudden electric pleasure. Sherlock marveled at the beauty of how thick and heavy John’s cock felt in his mouth and moaned around him. John bucked his hips in time with Sherlock’s mouth, the wet sound and the gold glent of mischief in his eyes as he slid off John’s cock was sublime. Sherlock’s lips stretched around the head of John’s cock and there was a wicked sparkle of tears when he swallowed John again to the root with another deep sound of triumphant pleasures vibrating down John’s cock and he felt the press of Sherlock’s soft palette. John threw his head back with a curse and nearly fell. Sherlock gripped his ass and kept him steady. But John slipped his grasp, swallowing hard, panting and taking a step back. 

“You’re fuckin wicked.” John huffed and grabbed his own balls. “On the bed.” It was an order. “Face down.” Sherlock felt the thrill of surrender.

John rubbed his cock as he watched Sherlock crawl to the center of the large bed, he lay down legs slightly apart. John put his knees on the bed and sat himself between Sherlock’s thighs. John’s cock wet with saliva and precum slid between Sherlock’s ass cheeks rutting. Sherlock jerked and began to grind up into John's strokes. All the while a string of low baritone sounds drifted in the air. John stopped his motion with two firm hands on his ass. John couldn't help but sink his teeth into one plump cheek leaving a mark. The man beneath him yelped and almost jumped out of the grasp John had put on his hips. Almost. John held him firm and what followed was utter depraveity. John fucked his tongue into the heat that radiated from Sherlocks bottom rubbing the sensitive skin raw with the stubble of his cheek all the while skillfully ravishing Sherlocks most inner sanctum. Sherlock’s whole body shook, he was covered in thin sheen of sweat and his breath was harsh and ragged.

“Can you breath darling?” John stopped his assault, but kept his hands on the plush bottom until he turned Sherlock over. John crawled up Sherlock's hot sweat covered body.

“I want to fuck you long and hard.” Sherlock ached at John's words. John licked a path from collar bone to behind Sherlock’s ear biting and softly sucking along the way, grinding his own heavy cock on Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock rolled his hips and pulled at John.

“Yesss.” Low, rumbling and full of want.

John moved to the other side of Sherlock’s neck, slender and still white in some places that John hadn’t assulted yet with his teeth or tongue or lips. Kisses and words were one and the same.

“I want to fuck you slow and deep.” The whispered words were hot sin on Sherlock’s flesh and made his cock throb, and his mind devoid of all things aside from flashes of John doing exactly as he said. John sucked a dark purple mark on Sherlock’s neck licking and kissing at the pleasantly painful spot. 

“John.” Sherlock pleaded rocking his hips up to meet John’s.

“I want to fuck you now.” Johns voice was a growl and seemed to be tethered to Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock whimpered and reached for John’s cock only to have his wrist firmly clamped down beside him. “Don't. If you touch me with those beautiful delicate hands of yours, I’ll cum so fast, hot and thick between your fingers, and we don’t want that now do we love?" Sherlock’s only answer was the sound of total surrender. John pressed his cock hard into Sherlock’s thigh rutting against him, precum and sweat causing a delicious friction. John quickly moved to position himself between Sherlock’s thighs. John licked his fingers wet and coaxed into Sherlock’s heat. "Open for me." John demanded. Sherlock forgot to breathe bent his knees and let them fall apart, John worked his fingers inside Sherlock and stroked his cock. John bent close and made wet circles with his tongue while sucking at his balls. Sherlock cursed and tugged at shot cropped hair pushing against John’s fingers and mouth. Percum, slicked the length of Sherlock’s cock where John kept his mouth focused. Sherlock rocked and clutched at sheets frantic to reach a destination that John kept vearing away from. John slowed to a stop and rested his hands on the inside of Sherlock’s quivering thighs, moving to press his cock against Sherlock’s slick heat seeking entrance. The mans skin was flushed pink with arousal his cock jerked with each heave of his chest and thump of his heart. The look Sherlock gave John was lust personified, bright eyes, parted lips and tousled curls. Sherlock gave John a sinful smile to top off the look and slid a bottle of lube from under his pillow. “You’re unreal.”

“Fuck me John and see how real I am.” Sherlock’s voice was strained with that lust yet still full of the cocky defiance that John loved.

The challenge made John smile. He dripped lube in a hasty fashion before he gripped Sherlock’s hips with harsh fingers digging into flesh and watched as his cock slid into the tight ring of muscles taking him, holding him in a tight grip of mind numbing pleasure. John’s body bowed and shook above Sherlock. 

Sherlock shuttered around John’s thickness filling him, and felt himself stretch slick and tight around John’s cock. John moved in him slow at first making sure Sherlock could take him. It was the sensual brutality of two men. Then more. Longer deeper strokes that made Sherlock bit his lip and toss his head from side to side, grind and arch up into John's downward thrust. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s back pulling him deeper. John allowed Sherlock this bit of control as he tried to control himself. Sherlock’s body throbbed around him impossibly tight and it made his stomach lurch and his hips jut and jerk in a Herculean effort not to cum. John slowed his hips and pressed his body full against Sherlock's length nearly pinning Sherlocks cock between their sweat slick bodies. John felt Sherlock begin to tense and grip him tight and immediately broke Sherlock’s leg hold on him, knowing the man was close. 

"Uhuh." John pressed himself slow and deep into Sherlock and stopped. Sherlock bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut his body trembled against John’s hips. “Not yet love.” John was enveloped in hungry limbs and soft wanton lips. "Let me have you a little longer." John whispered against Sherlocks lip."

"Whatever you want." And Sherlock ment it. With a whole heart mind body and soul. He ment it. He pulled John’s head down by his neck and captured John's bottom lip lightly in his teeth. What John wanted was for this to last a life time, for this to be his life time. For this man to be his life. John moaned and gave in to the primal rhythm of his hips the smack of hot flesh and the sound of Sherlock’s heightening pleasure.

John tensed, each muscle too strained to continue to hold himself aloft, he wrapped his arms under Sherlock’s shoulder blades, pulling him close his belly pressed against Sherlock’s cock, burring his face in the crock of his neck.  
Sherlock shuttered and tighten his hold on John’s rigid muscles, Sherlock didn’t need to stroke his own cock, presse between his and John’s belly the friction of each deliciously powerful thrust pushed Sherlock closer to the tipping point. John could feel Sherlock’s every muscle.

“I...I...oh God John. Oh...fuck...fuck...fuuuuck I’m going to cum!”

“I know.” John managed to hissed against Sherlock’s ear and drove into him with a heart pounding breath jerking rhythm.

Sherlock thought he would cry, his heart beat was desperate. The world stopped, his breath stopped and everything focused into one blinding white hot point of surrender. Ever muscle coiled to the point of snapping he let go. “John, John....oh god fuck John!” Heat erupted between them as his cock spilled across their bellies. 

A jerky tide of pleasure over came John so violently he wondered briefly if his heart would stop as he felt his cock go off deep inside Sherlock’s convulsing body. 

They didn’t move. They couldn’t move. They could hardly breath. Eventually John was able to find enough breath and his last shard of strength. He slowly pulled himself from Sherlock’s heat, and smirked when the man in question shuttered as if douces in ice water.

John’s panting slowed to an occasional huff, he let his head loll to the side facing Sherlock, a contented smile on his face.

Sherlock rolled to his stomach and propped up on his elbows, still a little breathless smiling, sweat damp curls dangled in his face. 

“Again.” 

John tipped his head back against the pillow and laughed smacking a hand on Sherlock’s bottom. “Shower first yeah. Join me?” John arched a brow.

“Mmm. I’ve followed you this far, a shower could hurt.” Devilish eyes smiled.

 

The shared shower turned out to be as intimate as the rest of the evening had.

John stepped under the hot tap with his back to the water and let it run from head to toe. Sherlock stepped in in front of John and crowded under with him. John giggled and pulled the man in for a kiss. Sherlock’s hand drifted over John’s muscular body kissing his face and neck slow and deliberate in their placement.

“So different from the man in the field.” Sherlock said with his lips pressed against wet skin.

“Do you think so?" John said eyes closed as he enjoyed letting himself be explored, his arms looped around Sherlock’s waist.

“Well let’s see. ‘I’ll take him from you, slit your throat and watch you bleed out.’” Sherlock repeated John’s words. “Passionate brutal and true to your word.” Sherlock drew back to splayed his hands on John’s chest and move his fingers over old scars.

“I’d like to think I’m at the very least one of those things now.” 

“You misunderstand. A different dimension to the same brutality. Not changed. But different.” Sherlock continued his exploration as he spoke.

“And you like these different dimensions?” John’s eyes still closed.

“Allow me to show you how much.” The devil was in his voice and John knew he was in trouble as Sherlock slid down his body.

 

 

Sherlock had had lovers a plenty. In his uni days he had explored. Seeking data and making comparisons. The French were romantic and tender. The Italians were cocky. The Americans even more so. The Spanish talked. A lot. The Brits, were vanilla and reserved. But John Watson The Scotsman well now he was something altogether different. Not just because of his size or his dizzying skill in and out of bed. No it was the fact that Sherlock felt human with John, or at least what he thought being human felt like to every day human beings. Full of light and warmth. Calm. Contented. Sherlock placed a note on the bedside table. He lightly touched the shot cropped blond hair. Sherlock turned and left with the greatest hope he’d see John Watson again. 

 

John, 

Whatever horrible thing you must surely be thinking of me this moment please don’t. I was summoned home to London on important business that demanded my immediate attention. I had no choice. If I had, I would have chosen you. These aren’t words I use but: please forgive me. I want nothing more then to be back in bed with you. Or anywhere with you for that matter. I’m sorry John. Keep your head down and when you’re in London come see me. Please. 221B Baker St.

 

Yours  
~William Sherlock Scott Holmes~ 

 

John reread the letter, and heard the words spoken in the velvet sultry purr that was Sherlock, and he laughed, deep and full of contentment. Ever the enigma his Sherlock. His. Well this was a turn up.

 

~~~

Two Days Later

 

 

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.” John stood naked in front of the mirror with a face full of shaving cream.

“How do you feel about a Romanian terror cell, that’s decided to deal in human trafficking.”

“Is it Christmas already?” John wiped the straight razor on the towel and smiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that just happened. I wonder if John will visit Sherlock? Is Jim Moriarty ever really out of the picture? And what dose big brother Mycroft have to say about this whole...affair? I do hope you’ll stick with me and see.


	16. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh brothers.

~London~  
The Diogenes Club

Sherlock bounded from the car his Belstaff billowed as a cold London wind welcomed him home. Sherlock took a moment to just stand on the pavement and take in his city. He looked up at a blue cloudless sky and found that it was all wrong, too robins egg, too light. It needed to be more...azure? Sherlock ran through the range of shades as walked into the club. Sapphire, cobalt, lapis, indigo, cerulean. 

“Aegean!” Sherlock blurted out triumphantly at the same time he burst through the double doors of Mycroft’s office.

Mycroft sat behind his massive desk shaking his head at his little brother.

“Must you be so...”

“I’ll stop if you if stop.” Sherlock countered and helped himself to a drink. Mycroft always had the most interesting selection. He settled on a glass of Drambuie Jacobite. Scottish. Sherlock smiled.

“And what exactly is it you’d have me stop doing Sherlock?”

“Breathing.” Sherlock said under his breath. “Nothing. Nothing at all brother dear. Why am I here? What’s so important?”

“Ordinarily your choice in partners is of no consequence to me. But this latest...consort of yours is unacceptable.”

“Is that all?” Sherlock asked dismissively finishing his drink.

“Well I have to say I didn’t think it would be so easy. But yes. That is all.” Mycroft almost smiled to himself.

“Didn’t think what would be so easy?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Getting you to stop seeing John Watson, obviously. Really Sherlock wheres your mind?” Mycroft was annoyed by all the talking.

“Oh I’m sorry brother mine, I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I wouldn’t see John anymore. I simply ment is that all you had to say...”

“No it’s not all I have to say! I will not allow it Sherlock!” Mycroft was more frustrated then usual with his little brother.

“Are *you* sleeping with him?” Sherlock asked causally.

“Don’t be absurd!” Mycroft’s face was red now.

“Is he married?” Sherlock continued.

“No.” 

“Dose he have a sexually transmitted disease?”

“Of course not.” Mycroft gritted his teeth in anger.

“Then I see no grounds for this ridiculous request.” Sherlock turned to leave.

“It’s not a request. John Watson, is a high ranking SAS agent and more dangerous then you can imagine. If you align yourself with him you’ll put yourself in danger, not to mention jeopardizing whatever mission he’s tasked with. You can not see him!”

Sherlock was quiet. Mycroft caring was cringeworthy and put Sherlock very briefly in the awkward position of feeling something close to sympathy for his brothers plight. Sherlock sighed. He glanced out the window and caught sight of that robins egg blue sky that was all wrong. 

“Sorry Bro. No can do.” Sherlock exited the building.


	18. MorMor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Jim

~Somewhere Over The Atlantic Ocean~

Moriarty paced the aisle between the leather chairs of his private jet clearly agitated. That’s why Sebastian hadn’t said a word since the Maryborough. An agitated Jim was a dangerous Jim, and there wasn’t enough room on this jet for one of their fights.

 

“What do you think Tiger. Should I kill them? Well not “I” kill them, but have you kill them “I” kill them.”

“If you like.” Sebastian answered without taking his eyes from the window.

“Of course if I like! Don’t be dim! I was asking your opinion.” Jim grimaced.

Sebastian did turn from the window now to give Jim his full attention. Sebastian had known that Jim’s first meeting with Sherlock Holmes was going to leave him in a mood. 

“The pretty one, yes.” Sebastian would like nothing more at the moment then to skin “the pretty one” alive if it made his Jim happy.

“Oh Tiger. Look at you all jealous. No, no I think the pretty one stays. He may provide us both some fun yet.” Jim straddled Sebastian sitting in one of the big leather arm chairs.

“Not my type.” Sebastian tried to remain stoic, but was losing the fight with Jim moving in just the right rhythm on his lap.

“What posh twat?” Jim leaned in and sucked a painful mark on Seb’s neck.

“Moral.”


	19. Chance Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. Just a little note here. A Maxim9 is a 9mm handgun with a built in suppressor. Not creating total silence, but close. Just one of John’s many toys.

~One Month Later~  
Bucharest, Romania 

 

Sherlock stepped into the shadows of the alley right behind a very unsuspecting man who was too intent on creeping up on someone else to notice Sherlock creeping up on him. Sherlock swift and silent wrapped his arm around the mans neck affectively cutting off the man’s air supply and the would be assailant slipped into unconsciousness. Sherlock dropped him to the ground with the rest. 

The alley was littered with bodies, Sherlock frowned and gingerly stepped forward and around heading toward the figure standing at the opposite end of the alley. Sherlock was nearly within arms reach when John whirled on him lighting fast pulling him down and spinning Sherlock around with a knee in his back to keep him upright and a knife at is throat. 

John pressed his lips against Sherlocks curls. "What in the hell are you doing here?" He spun Sherlock back around on his feet righting him and pushed up his balaclava.

Sherlock smiled even though he was a little winded from the bit of man handling but none the worse for ware. “Well I’m saving your life obviously.”

“Really?” John arched an eyebrow with a crooked smile. “Hold that thought Kitten yeah?” John pulled out his Maxim9 and ducked around the corner knife still in hand. Sherlock hung back and listen to the sounds of the nearby fighting. John came back moments later with fresh blood spray across his face, knife covered in blood in one hand gun smoking in the other. “You were saying?”

“I missed you.” Sherlock draped his arms over John’s shoulders and twined his long fingers in John’s short cropped hair pulling John in for a kiss.

“God I missed you too.” John managed to get the words out just as Sherlock kissed him.

“I wish I had more time.” Sherlock was undoing John’s trousers while he spoke.

“What?” John was paralyzed his hands occupied and his mind racing. Was Sherlock going to...

“What I’m doing should be obvious John.” Sherlock winked and slid down John’s body.

“Holy...shhhh...oh my God...Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s tongue was too skilled for words, knowing exactly how to lick and suck John into a blind frenzy. John thwaked his head against the stone wall hard and bucked his hips. He should have cared. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. All he cared about was cumming down that beautiful throat of Sherlock’s. He hadn’t had anyone since Sherlock and it was all over so fast John would have been embarrassed had is brain been able to process anything other then “Sweet Holy Fuck Sherlock.” His body became one taut coil as Sherlock pressed John’s cock to the very back of his throat and swallowed him down.

Sherlock stood up and began to tuck John back into his black cargo pants kissing him with a hungry passion that John matched. John could taste the acrid bite of his cum on Sherlock’s pretty mouth, and it was everything. This beautiful creature was filthy perfection. Sherlock’s kisses peppered John’s face, before pulling John’s balaclava back down in place, running both hands over John’s now covered cheeks. “Keep your head down.” He kissed John’s lips once more and was gone. Up the alleyway into the light and gone. John felt laughter bubble up in his chest and echo off the close walls of the alley. A body on the ground stirred. John shot twice. Gun fire and laughter mixed in the air.


	20. “We May Have A Problem.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off you pop and go see for yourself.

~One Week Later~   
The Royal Palace Det kongelige slott  
Oslo, Norway 

 

 

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.”

“German tourism has picked up recently.” 

“Mmm. Really. Good news for the economy, what with the Brexit, and all.” John spoke low into the barely there earpiece as he double cheeked his bow tie in the mirror and smoothed his hands over his jacket before he entered the grand ballroom.

“Yes well, bad news for tourists getting caught in the German black market organ trade. Once you’re done with Crown Price Haakon, perhaps you could pop over and have a look. Seduction on the menu this evening?”

“Not the tactic I had planned on using no.” John felt himself bristle at the idea.

“But you play the sparrow so well.” Mercy teased. 

“Yes well...” John let his words hang in the air for two reasons. One he wasn’t going to tell Mercy, that since Sherlock Holmes, the thought of being with anyone else seemed...wrong, and two he had just spotted Jim Moriarty across the room and his aptly named Tiger, approaching to John’s left. Why were they here? “Mercy, we may have a problem.”

“Oh? What is it J?”

“The Magpie is here.” This was the name John had given Moriarty shortly after meeting him, saying that the man was twitchy and disturbing like the clever bird.

“He’s on our side J.” Mercy tried to soothe him.

“It doesn’t feel like. Call you back.” John cut the call as Jim winked and smiled at him from across the ballroom just as Sebastian strolled up next to him.

“Hello Captain Watson.” Sebastian was causal, but the use of his rank had been deliberate, a statement and a challenge.

“He speaks. Hello there Colonel Moran.” John never one to back down responded in kind. Jim, seemed to curl up next to Sebastian as he joined them.

“Look at you Dr. Watson. You cut quite the picture in your tux. Very 007. I’m sure Sherlock would eat alive if he saw you. Where is he by the way?” Jim asked casually enough but it was obviously that had been his burning question.

“No idea. What brings you here?” John did not want to talk about Sherlock with this man. John knew that these two were going to be trouble and he’d rather that trouble be all his and not Sherlock’s.

“Business with the Crown Prince. And you?” Jim was overly sweet.

“The same. Business with Haakon.” John took a drink as the tray passed.

“You’ve slept with him haven’t you? Sherlock. Not the Crown Prince.” Moriarty was blunt. John didn’t answer. So Jim pressed on. “Is he sweet? He looks sweet. Like candy floss.” Jim sighed and leaned heavily into Sebastian as he asked. 

John saw Prince Haakon in the crowd, but before he left he answered the question.

“Yes. Yes he is. More then you’ll ever know. Now if you’ll excuse me gentleman.” John made a slight bow, and left.

~~~

“Mercy.” 

“Yes J.”

“I need you to get me a mobile number.”

“Will any random set of digits do or are you looking for something specific?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Done.”

“Thank you Mercy.”


	21. Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep what it says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. What follows is a text message conversation between John and Sherlock. Please let me know if it is confusing or should be written somehow differently. A thousand times thank you in advance.

Where are you?  
J-

John?  
SH~

 

Yes. Where are you?  
J-

Wales.  
SH~

So many questions. Work?  
J-

Yes. What’s wrong?  
SH~

Who said anything was wrong.  
J-

It’s been nearly two months and you’ve not tried to get in contact with me, and now out of nowhere you ask me in a panic where I am.  
SH~

What makes you think I’m in a panic?  
J-

The fact that you contacted me at all. What should I know?  
SH~

You should know that nothing can keep me from you. So don’t imply that it’s been nearly two month as if I weren’t going to contact you. Nothing. Not the passage of time, not distance. Nothing. That’s what you need to know.  
J-

You sound like a man obsessed.  
SH~

You have no idea.  
J-

Enlighten me.  
SH~

Soon. But for now I’d just like to keep in contact. Fair enough?  
J-

Fair enough.  
SH~

Sherlock smiled and slipped his mobile back into his brest pocket. Something had John on edge and he simply didn’t want to alarm Sherlock with the details. How sweet. And misguided Sherlock thought. It's not as if he were in danger of being captured and touted...and...oh. Yes well, maybe he would be a bit more cautious.

 

John forced a breath puffing his cheeks and ran a hand over his face. He admitted to himself that denying his feelings for Sherlock was in no way helping his situation. He sighed and went back to looking through the scope on his sniper rifle. He was going to have to involve Mercy. Fuck.

 

~~~

”Mercy.”

”Hello J. How can I help you?”

”I need you to tap a phone and track someone.”

”Let me guess. Sherlock Holmes.”

”Yes, please.”

”J...”

”Don't. I already know what you're going to say. And yes it is a bad idea, but I'm not able to be there to keep him safe and I can't just sit by and hope I'm wrong.” 

”Are we going to talk about the fact that you feel the need in first place?” 

”What do you think?”

”Don't take that tone with me.”

”I'm sorry. I'm just...”

”A complete and total besotted prik?”

”Yes. Now will you help me or should I get Pope?”

”I'll handle it.”

”Thank you, Mercy.”


	22. Untraceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy runs into a problem.

~~~

 

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy. I’m leaving for Germany within the hour. Why the call?” John zipped his rifle case and took a seat in the black leather chair of his five star hotel room.

“It’s Sherlock...”

“What!?” John stood up and reflexively grabbed his L9A1 from the small of his back as if the threat where right in front of him. “What happened...where is he...who has him!?”

“JOHN! Stop. He’s fine.”

“Fuck! Fuck Mercy! Start with that next time yeah.”John fell heavily into the chair resting his head back he closed his eyes and tried to still the murderous demon that had sprang to life at the *notion* of Sherlock being in danger.

“He’s fine. I’m sorry. The problem is...you see...he’s untraceable.”

“Excuse me. What the hell do you mean untraceable? That’s impossible. We’re SAS. No one’s untraceable.”

“Apparently he is. Sherlock’s blocked somehow. I don’t understand it either. But I did receive a message for you when I attempted the trace.”

There was a deadly silence on the on the other end. Mercy waited, John was pissed and she knew it. Better to wait then to poke at the beast.

Someone was playing with him. More importantly someone thought it a good idea to try and keep him from the man he was rapidly falling in love with. Someone had no sense of self preservation.

“What...is the message Mercy?” John was dangerously calm.

“The message reads, ”Don't meddle with things that are outside your purview, Dr. Watson.”

”Run the trace again.”

”It won't work J.”

”Of course not. But maybe I'll get a name with the next message. If not run it until you do.”

”J, there are clearly dangerous forces at work here.”

”Yes. There are. And it's time that the person on the other end of that message knows that too.”


	23. Cloak Meets Dagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to give anything away.

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. I know, it’s been far too long. I’ve recently started a new job, and I’m desperately trying to balance work, and the love of our boys. I believe I’ve found a rhythm now that should work. Fingers crossed. 

Now when last we looked in on our boys, someone had decided that John and Sherlock weren’t a good fit and saw fit to keep them apart. John is having none of that shit. From anyone. So here we go...

 

~Cloak Meets Dagger~

 

“Hello Mr. Holmes. I was just about to light a fire. Care to join me?" 

John had been standing with his back to the door when Mycroft had entered his study. John turned now to meet the face of a livid Mycroft Holmes, his umbrella held white knuckled in both his hands ready to strike if need be. 

“Would that be a metaphorical or literal fire Dr. Watson?”

John shifted his eyes from Mycroft's outraged face to his hands gripping what John could only assume was some type of concealed weapon. John then shifted his gaze to his own 9mm that he had deliberately warn in its very visible shoulder holster then back up to Mycroft’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Seems as if that choice is yours." 

"I see. Fine then. Why are you here Dr. Watson?" Mycroft was un phased and loosened his grip. A bit, but not entirely, he was growing impatient already.

"You’re taking the piss right? You're trying to keep me from something I want very badly. You had to know I would come." John seemed truly confused by the question. Both men remained posed to strike. This was never going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Do you know who I am Dr. Watson?” Mycroft relaxed now as if he himself had just remembered that he was in-fact “The British Government” and he could end this game at anytime.

 

“Mycroft. Alistair. James. Holmes.” John paused while Mycroft adjusted to this new development. “There are few people above you that don’t wear an actual crown. Lucky for me those few are friends of mine.” 

“Friends? Of yours? A blunt instrument. Mmm. Yes well the fact remains that I am exactly who you say, and with that comes a power beyond your minuscule comprehension. So I’ll ask you for the *last time.* Why are you here?” Mycroft was now on the offensive. 

John smiled. “Sherlock."

"Be more specific."

"Sherlock Holmes."

”You can be removed.” Mycroft had just about had enough.

“By who?” 

“If needs must there are other avenues.” 

“And who do you think gets sent down those avenues Mr. Holmes? Me. The blunt instrument. As you so readily pointed out. The same man you requested for the exfill of your brother..."

"Yes and now your job is done. The Queen thanks you for your service." 

"Your brother thanked me for my service." 

It was rare that Mycroft dipped a toe into the primordial ooze of human emotion, but this man in front of him now challenging him with his fake respectful defiance was certainly stirring the very primal urge to choak the hell out of him. This was quite clearly going nowhere. Fine.

“So am I to understand that despite the risk you still intend on seeing my brother?”

John seemed to give the question some real thought.   
“Risk, is by definition what I do. So yes, I plan on seeing Sherlock despite the risk...because of the risk.” John smiled to himself at the thought of the risk he’d already taken with the brash genius. “Goodbye Mr. Holmes.” And then into his earpiece. “Team Methos, stand down.”

Mycroft watched John take his leave and had to grudgingly admit that perhaps this wasn’t going to be as horrendous as he’d first thought. Perhaps.


	24. Berlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Berlin, has alleys? Sherlock dose.

This chapter is dedicated to Snowrabbit, who was looking for a little more John/Sherlock interaction. Now I’m not sure if this is what you had in mind...but this was already in the works when you asked. I hope it fills a need. A thousand times thank you for your request.

 

And lastly I’d just like to show some love for the legendary Mad_Lori for her heartbreaking, brilliant work “Alone On The Water.” I used that phrase below and it just didn’t seem right not to acknowledge how important that fic is to our fandom. So to Mad_Lori, mad thanks.

 

 

~~~

Berlin, Germany 

 

“You’re late.” Mercy was stern.

“I’m here. My team is in place.”

“I know. And?”

“And what?” John’s conversation (confrontation?) with the elder Holmes had left him more certain then ever that he was going to peruse things with Sherlock. And if the British Government couldn’t deter him then Mercy sure as hell wasn’t going to either.

“And. What caused the delay?” Mercy already knew, as knowledge was her job, but she pushed John to tell her.

“You know my exact whereabouts every second of every day. You tell me?” 

“J, this is dangerous ground.” 

“You sound like someone else I know.”

“Well general consensus may not be wrong.”

“I care fuck all about general consensus! So let me suggest that you acclimatize yourself to the new normal yeah? Now if we could crack on there’s a black market organ dealer I need to see to.”

Unlike Mycroft, Mercy could hear the angry Gaelic in John’s voice and knew it was time to give up. And so she did. “Copy that. Good luck J.”

John smiled satisfied that Mercy seemed to realize that to John this was worth all the danger it could bring. “ Thank you Mercy.” 

 

~~~

 

John pushed up his night vision goggles and looked about his surroundings. He couldn’t help but think he was paid far too much money to creep around in dark alleys. There was a bit more to the job then that but essentially creeping in dark alleys was the gist. John smiled at his thoughts and pulled on his Condor shooters gloves preparing to take the building across the street when a shadow slipped around the corner not three feet in front of him. He would have know that silhouette anywhere.

John grabbed Sherlock by the waist and forced him against the wall with his body. “How in the hell do you keep finding me?”

Sherlock tensed for the space of a second before he softened in John’s grasp and smiled. 

“John." Sherlock somehow managed to tisk in a secductive manner. "Detective." He leaned in to nip a kiss at John’s smiling lips resting his hand on John’s biceps.

“Cheeky Monkey.” John grinned and kissed back still holding Sherlock by the waist. “You’re going to blow my cover.”

“Mmm. Blow.” Sherlock’s eyes flared with heat and he tilted his head in a coy fashion his smile was pretty and full of mischief. He spidered his fingers into the waist band of John’s paints pulling him to and eating up what little space had come between them.

John watched the stark white digits against his black clothing and realized he had a thing for Sherlock’s long delicate fingers. Hell he had a thing for every facet of the gorgeous man. John chuckled at the easy lust that flared up between them. How they craved each other at the slightest touch and became hard at the notion of more. God the more. The things John wanted with this man. Right here in this alley. And beyond. Not just this visceral need but there had been an emotional thread sown between them as well and John was eager to see what it would become. 

“No. Not this time you. This time... together.” John's words trailed off bitting his lip and looking down as he undid Sherlock's perfect trousers and shoved his gloved hand down the front. Sherlock jerked and his breath hitched at the feel of the cool leather working over his hot flesh, pulling his cock free into the brisk night air.

Sherlock shivered but didn’t let this chilly exposure keep him from his own goal of working John’s fly open and pressing their heat together.

 

Sherlock slid down the wall just enough to bring them that final bit closer in all the right ways. John understood the action and hurried to wedged himself between Sherlock’s thighs pressing them as close as was possible. They kissed like battle. Each man hungrier then the other. Kissing dissolved into open mouth panting with their foreheads pressed together smiling into each other's eyes before the hunger would overtake them and the kissing would rage again.

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but think. “This is insanity.” Here he was the worlds only consulting detective rutting in an alley in Berlin with an assassin and loving it. Maybe if he weren’t constantly hungry for John every second they were apart, or maybe if this moment weren’t so perfectly exhilarating, maybe if the shock waves weren’t shooting through his body at the slightest brush of their cocks, maybe then he could pull himself (and his clothes) back together and find his way to sanity. John had other plans though. He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and guided his large hand to nearly wrap around them both. John hissed at the feel of their cocks pressed together and jerked in Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock curled his fingers around them and stroked their cocks in this obscene and beautiful back alley wank.

“Holy hell.” John rained fervent kisses over Sherlock’s mouth, chin and throat they nuzzled and bumped lips and noses in an effort to share each other from breath to heart beat. Sherlock pressed his cheek to John’s in what was almost a kiss coupled with the sounds of heavy breath and low moans. 

“God John.” 

They clung to each other they moved together in Sherlock’s grip hot hard and desperate. John’s hands roved over Sherlock’s body unsure where he wanted to touch him most. His curls, his neck, his cock. John’s gloved fingers settled over their cocks at the moment of climax he cupped his palm and tried in vain to stem the tide. They kissed each other deeply, lovingly through the shared spasms. 

John’s chest heaved, and he rested on Sherlock in the aftermath sharing the folds of his coat soaking in Sherlock’s heat and sent lost to the sound of his blood buzzed loudly in his ears and the rapid thud of Sherlock’s heart. “What are you doing to me?” John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s now and asked in such away that it made Sherlock’s heart swell. 

“No more then you’ve done to me.” Sherlock rubbed his curls against John’s face like a contented cat.

“Good to know I’m not *alone on the water.*” John pulled back and kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose. They separated just enough for Sherlock to put John back together and then himself. John stripped his glove off turning it inside out and shoving it into his pocket.

“I should go.” Sherlock was flushed and a little disheveled and so pretty it hurt.

“No. You shouldn’t.” The words where out before John could stop himself. Now it was John’s turn to blush.”Yes, you should. I have a job to do and I don’t want you anywhere near this.” 

Sherlock nodded his agreement puzzled by John’s ability to soothe him into compliance. Whatever John wanted Sherlock wanted. And so Sherlock turned the collar up on his Belstaff and gathered his great coat around him. John watched the man smother himself in his protective armor.

“Text me when you’re done here.” Sherlock tried to sound nonchalant, but after what they’d just shared that was impossible, Sherlock’s voice didn’t have that caviler tone he’d been aiming for. John made to reassure him with his response.

“Of course Love.” John’s smile beamed in the dark alley and warmed Sherlock more then his Belstaff ever could.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile in return steal one last kiss and ducked back around the corner he’d come from.


	25. Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As above so below.

~~~

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. So below is a text conversation between our boys, just text bare bones. Draw your own conclusions. 

 

 

My job is wrapped. Can you talk?  
J-

John. Of course.  
SH~

 

Why were you in Berlin?  
J-

 

My work.  
SH~

 

Should I be worried?  
J-

 

About me?  
SH~

 

No. About tomorrow’s weather.   
J-

 

Sarcasm.  
SH~

 

Yes love.  
J-

 

Why do you call me that?  
SH~

 

It feels right.  
J-  
Sherlock?   
J-  
Did I lose you?  
J-

 

No John. I don’t think you *can* lose me. And just because some of the people you and I persue move in the same circles is no need to worry.  
SH~

 

Fuck if that’s not every reason to worry! I know the kind of people I go after and the fact that you cross paths with that level of criminal is frightening as hell to me.   
J-

 

You sound like my brother. Well. Not the company you want to keep.  
SH~

 

You should know, your brother is the one who requested me for your exfill.  
J-

 

I know.  
SH~

 

So, you also know we’ve meet?  
J-

 

It’s my job to know. I’m sure that went swimmingly for you both.  
SH~

 

Oh God yes! Was lovely. We’re planing a whole big thing for the next time.  
J-

 

So which was it? Intimidation or bribery?   
SH~

 

Your brother made it clear that he could have me delt with whenever he felt like it.  
J-

 

And who dose he plan on sending to kill a killer. No offense.  
SH~

 

That’s what I said. And none taken.  
J-

 

So he brought us together and now he seeks to tear us apart.  
SH~

 

Never going to happen. Especially now that I know you consider us together.  
J-

 

I didn’t mean, that is what I was trying to say is...

 

It’s alright Sherlock. Duty calls.  
J-


	26. Third Times A Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings lead to more misunderstandings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please power through my mistakes, I was in a rush to publish.

Stupid, stupid! Sherlock dug both hands into his curls and balled his fist. What had he done? Had John misunderstood and thought Sherlock didn’t want them to be together? Or had he understood and been put off by the thought of them together? Oh who the hell knew? What Sherlock did know was that somehow he had to find a way to try to make things right between he and John. 

 

~~~

John squeezed his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! He really shouldn’t be this deep this fast on nearly nothing but Sherlock Holmes was everything lighting in a bottle wished it was. And John was hopelessly in love with every elusive powerful and brilliant bit of the man. And now John knew that Sherlock didn’t feel the same, all his beautiful stumbling over his words had made that much clear.

 

~~~

 

The next four days were rough for the criminal classes. John worked freelance, taking out two drug lords, one member of the Yakuza, and two known terrorist. John suffered a knife wound to the shoulder but other then that he was physically fine. His mood on the other hand had only seemed to darken all the more. He needed a break.

 

~~~

 

“Mercy.”

“Hello J. How can I help you?”

“I’m afraid you can’t. Let Cardinal know she’s first in command.”

“Do you have a timeline?”

“No. But you know where to reach me.”

“J...”

“I’m fine. I just need a reset.” John could hear Mercy starting to slip into sister mode and loved his twin all the more for it.

“If you say so, but you know where to reach me too.”

“Copy that.”

 

 

~Three Days Later~  
Balquhidder, Lochearnhead, Perthshire,Scotland 

 

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.” John took a bite of an apple, and pulled open the curtains overlooking the moors.

“Cardinal needs you. It’s the St. Petersburg exchange. She’s too deep to contact you and too stubborn besides. She’s going to get herself killed.”

John tossed the apple in the bin and closed the curtains. “Keep her alive until I get there. I’m on my way.”

~~~

 

John looked away from his scope and waited for Cardinal to surface from the chaos. He pushed up his balaclava and breathed a sigh of relief when her voice crackled to life in his ear.

“And that’s how it’s done. We’re finished here. But I need you in two days for the close. Don’t wonder off.”

John shook his head. “Copy that. Cardinal.”

“Yes J?”

“There’s a reason I’m team leader. I’ll handle things here. You need to disappear.”

John never made a show of his power over the rest of the team, he was the senior most member with more training and skill then all of them put together and they all knew it. When he had to voice it there was a problem. Cardinal had fucked up and she knew it. “Sorry J. Copy that.”

 

John sat about disassembling his sniper rifle, too pissed at Cardinal to hear the footsteps right away, but still hearing them far enough away to slide his L9A1 from the small of his back.

“You’d shoot me?” Sherlock’s baritone echoed off the walls of old windowless building.

“Why are you here? Forget about the how, I’ve given up tying to figure out how you find me. But why?” John felt like some accusatory lost lover. Damn if this kitten wasn’t going to be the death of him.

“You’re angry.” Sherlock reached for John who had backed away towards the wall.

“No.” John batted Sherlock’s hand away feeling even more like the jilted lover.

Sherlock seamed to not understand the action at all and advanced again this time with more purpose. And this time John made it a little more clear with a little more force. This finally registered. It was not received well. A tussle broke out between the two men ending with Sherlock planting a hand in the center of John’s chest and slamming him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from John’s lungs.

 

If Sherlock had lacked understanding before, everything now suddenly showed with crystal clarity. Sherlock had seen that look in John’s eyes before, and what had followed it had been merciless and brutal. Sherlock let his hand fall away. John watched through narrowed eyes. Sherlock waited for the storm to roll over him. 

The kiss was not the passion they had shared before, but anger and hurt beyond reason, that evolved into guilt and apology.

“Sherlock.” John pleaded.

“Tell me what you want?” Had John said “the heart from your chest” Sherlock would have carved it out and handed it to him then and there. They were both so raw from all that their whirlwind relationship had been. All the danger and the clandestine meetings. 

“You. Dear God, I want you.” John let Sherlock’s hands and lips and tongue and teeth have their way. By the time they were done Sherlock’s trousers had joined John’s around his own ankles on the floor where they both now kneeled, John was sure that he would never get enough of the taste of himself coming from those perfect wicked lips. And that’s when John knew that this, in this way was never going to work.

“I can’t do this. This isn’t going to be enough for me. A quick fuck in every back alley and abandoned warehouse in Eastern Europe. I can’t. Not with you.”

“Not with me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock looked up from buttoning his shirt. Hair a mass, eyes bright cheeks flush gorgeous. 

"This." John motioned around them indicating the warehouse. "You're not made for this. You’re made for plush sheets and moonlight and slow. God! So fuckin slow. Not...this. I just...can’t. Not with you.”  
During John’s speech he had stood up and gathered himself back together while Sherlock had done the same. 

“I understand.” Sherlock took John’s face and held him in a lingering kiss. “Keep your head down.” Sherlock whispered in his ear slowly sliding his hands down John’s face as was his custom, and then he was gone.


	27. It Is You Dear Reader, Who Misunderstands.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while since we’ve seen John in BAMF mode. Here’s a bit of a reminder.

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. A thing or two before we rejoin our boys. Below is some information about Boko Haram, it’s good to know ones enemy. Also I mention two songs. The first is instrumental, so there’s no real need to listen to it other then it’s beautiful. The second is “Make it to me” by: Sam Smith. This one, well I guess you can learn it’s meaning right along with John.

 

A clumsy text conversation led to misunderstandings.  
Or did it?

 

~Boko Haram~

Founded by Mohammed Yusuf in 2002, the group has been led by Abubakar Shekau since 2009. From March 2015 to August 2016, the group was briefly aligned with the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant. Since the current insurgency started in 2009, Boko Haram has killed tens of thousands and displaced 2.3 million from their homes[22] and was ranked as the world's deadliest terror group by the Global Terrorism Index in 2015.

 

One Month Later  
~Republic of Cameroon~  
Central Africa

 

 

From John’s position on the rise he could see that the Boko Haram camp below was abuzz with activity. 

“Cardinal, give me a run down. Over.”

“Four heavily armed guards patrolling at regular twenty minute intervals in my quardent. Pope, and Bishop are reporting the same. Over.” 

“Copy that Cardinal. Pope come in. Over.”

“Pope here J. Over.”

“Copy that. Bishop come in. Over.”

“At your service J. Over.”

Satisfied that his team was ready. “On my mark. Give no quarter. Over.”

“Copy that!” Three voices echoed back at John. 

Before team Methos stepped into the light of the campfires they had eliminated all but a half dozen members of the Boko Haram cell that had caught them in a roadside bomb four days and most recently killed two pastors. 

John took a seat at the campfire that the six remaining men had shared not fifteen minutes ago. He pored himself a cup of tea that had been brewing over the fire and gesture for the men to join him. They sat with a mixture of defiance and hesitation.

John sipped at his tea then rested his forearms causally on his knees cup hanging lossy in between his hands his L96A1 layed a cross his lap. 

“Now, if someone would be so kind as to tell me where we can locate your leader, the sooner this can all be a distant memory.”

 

“Cet infidèle pense que nous parlerons!”  
“This infidel thinks we will talk!” The man closest to John’s left spoke in French.

John gave his answer in English. “This infidel thinks you will die. If you talk first well that’s a bonus.” John didn’t even remove his rifle from his lap, he simply angled the muzzle up a bit and fired. The man who had spoken was thrown backward. John sat down his tea and directed his attention to the next man in line.

“Déplacez-le et prenez place.” This time John spoke French and indicated the dead man.  
“Move him. And take a seat.”

 

****

Four days ago team Methos had been tracking this cell of Boko Haram in connection with a bombing that had taken place at a known tourist market when they where hit by a roadside bomb. The led humvee of John and Voltaire, had suffered the most damage. The second with Cardinal, Pope, and Bishop and all the medical supplies had faired much better with most of the team emerging with only minor injuries. Voltaire had not been as lucky.

****

“More saline right here Pope, I can’t see the bleed! Voltaire, I need you to stop fuckin laughing!”

“But J, it’s a bomb! I love bombs!”

“You’re in shock you daft bastard. Now be still so I can stop you from bleeding out in the dirt.”

John had worked frantically to save his friends life as his own blood blurred his vision from a gash in his head and stitched up a femoral artery on his knees in the dirt.

****  
As it turned out the third time was the charm and they got the information they were after. John called in the pre planned air strike and his team was at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center by early evening the next day.

 

~~~

 

“Hello J.” Mercy was as she every was. John smiled.

“Hello Mercy.” 

“How’s our boy then?”

“Bat shit crazy.” John answered good naturedly.

“Back to normal so soon?” Mercy’s voice was bright.

“The doctors say he has a long recovery, but should be back with the team within a year.” 

John could hear the rush of relief that he shared with his sister. Voltaire was the type of mad bastard that you can’t help but love, and each one of them did.

“Well, now that that’s all sorted. You’ll be staying at the Waldorf Astoria Berlin, in the presidential suite until such time that you are needed.”

 

“Brilliant. I could use a bit of the finer things right now.”

Mercy managed to hold her laughter in check. “You have no idea.” 

“Sorry?” John asked.

“Nothing. Good luck J.”

“Thank you Mercy.” John gave his customary reply but couldn’t help but sound questioning. 

 

~Waldorf Astoria Berlin~

 

John slipped his key card from the door and stepped inside the dimly lit suite. He was greeted by the deep strings and the high whine of “Zero Is The River” by: The Wires. Not that John knew the piece of music, he only knew that the cello was inviting and reminded him of home with all its gray clouds harsh winds and beauty. John moved around the space enjoying the luxury for a change dropping his heavy bag slipping out of his jacket and toeing off his shoes. In the back of his mind John wondered who had chosen the music. It was a good choice. He would have to thank them. He wouldn’t have long to wait.

“Hello John.” Sherlock strolled into the room as if he own the place. John laughed to himself, in a sense he guessed he did. God he looked good. Black trousers so sinfully tailored the devil himself must have hand (hoof?) stitched them, white button front shirt crisp and strained suggestively across his chest.. Now he understood Mercy’s last words. Good luck indeed.

“Hello Love.” John didn’t say anymore. Clearly this whole thing was Sherlock’s creation and John wanted to see how it was meant to play out. So he settled back into the cushions of one of the three velvet sofas and waited.

Sherlock sat himself across from John on the opposite sofa, cross legged and elegant. He considered John deeply seemingly unsure which path to take.

“So basically because of a misunderstanding you ran off to Cameroon in hopes of getting yourself killed.” John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock ignored it. “I tried to get you back, to explain but Mycroft wouldn’t help. He said, if you survived Boko Haram, then whatever followed was the will of the Gods and he’d never say another word on the subject.”

“I go where I’m sent. But you believe that I was so heartbroken that I wanted to die. Mmm. Kill, maybe. But not die. Dying would be counterproductive to my goal.”

“Which is what exactly?” Sherlock was flippant and casual.

“You. Clearly I’m not the one that misunderstood. I never once said that I was done with you. I said I was done with back alleys. I thought the warehouse was an apology for our last text conversation.” 

“It was. And I thought you knew that “keep your head down” ment so much more. So you believe I was done with us. Incorrectly. And you weren’t. And I believed you were tired of the causal nature of...our...relationship. And not the relationship on a whole. When I said “I understand.” I in fact did.”

“There has to have been a simpler way to say all that.” John couldn’t help but smile now that they where back on the same page, and knowing they’d never really left.

“There is. Take your clothes off.” Sherlock leaned forward suddenly on the prowl. Now John laughed out right.

“With pleasure. But first, a proper hello.” John didn’t move but gestured for Sherlock to come to him. He did half laying on John’s reclined form and half on the sofa, John wrapped an arm around the slim waistline and pulled Sherlock close. The first brush of their lips was like relief. They sighed into each other in the slow exploration of mouths and tongues . John reached up and twined his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, pressing his palm to the back of his skull. Slow and exploratory was turning into hot and desperate. All that their relationship boiled down to. Need. A need that felt like it could never, ever be filled.

“Stop. Stop. We have to stop.” John huffed and tried to sit up. Sherlock was having none of that. He draped one long leg over John’s thighs and nuzzled into the mans neck. John nearly died. The full length of Sherlock hot and hard in every way pressed against him made is head spin, or was it the lips on his neck that were causing his vertigo? 

“Sherlock, please.” John pleaded already so caught up his cock strained painfully against his zipper. “I’m covered in sweat and dirt and..”

“Battle.” The husky word laid on John’s skin in the hollow of throat. Sherlock could feel the rumble of laughter in John’s chest and he stopped to look up incredulous.

“Now I get it. You like it. Me fresh from the field. In the field. Ooh you.” Both John’s hands found Sherlock’s curls now pulling him into a searing kiss coupled with grinding hips and throaty moans that left them both panting and hungry. John pushed away quickly and stood up grabbing his cock through his jeans. Sherlock rolled to his back and reached a hand up to join John’s. John let the wicked fingers work over him for a moment before he backed out of reach. Sherlock looked like a child who’d just had a lolli snatched away. 

“Fine.” Sherlock sprang up. “This way.” He looped his fingers into John’s waistband and tugged him in the direction of the loo. John just grinned and allowed himself to be led. As he trailed behind enjoying the view John realized he would allow this madman anything. John was also not one to give up control, one because it came naturally to him to be in charge and two because it was a rare human who could best him at all. So to feel the reins slip from his hands and not need to grab them back was revealing. This man (as John had thought many times before) was most certainly his undoing. Sherlock started a hot stream of water. “There’s your precious shower.” He turned to leave making it as far as the door.

“You know...” Sherlock turned in time to see John strip his t-shirt off one handed and then began to kick out of his jeans.”I wouldn’t turn down some company. Join me?” John was naked, and Sherlock’s gaze traveled and transformed as it did. What started as wolffish hunger at the sight of John’s cock turned to ardent delight when he reached John’s smile.

“Yes please.” Sweet as a kitten. 

They washed each other with dream like slowness. Neither in a rush to finish what their bodies had started, yet unable to stop the inevitable brushing against each in hot soapy rapture tethering on the edge. John enjoyed the progressive tightening of Sherlock’s every muscle the slight tremble of his thighs and his gasping breaths when John would slid there cocks across one another. He was beautiful. And John couldn’t keep his mouth off him a second longer. John slipped his hands down Sherlock’s thighs around to cup his bottom and then he went to his knees. Sherlock tried to pull away wanting to prolong this as long as he could. But John would not be denied his prize and took Sherlock into his mouth and held him there stroking his own cock unable to hold back the jerky tidal wave of his release as he sucked Sherlock down. John stood back up smiling at Sherlock’s spent beauty. Sherlock kissed him. He licked John’s lips and searched John’s mouth for every drop of himself left there. They stayed that way, kissing lazily under the water locked together.

“John.” Sherlock nipped at John’s earlobe.

“Mmm. Yes love?” John was peaceful. 

“The waters getting cold.” Sherlock seemed in no rush.

“Yes Love.”

 

~~~

 

When they finally departed the shower, they were as clean as they’d ever been, hungry and still unable to stop touching each other. So they opted for robes in place of clothes and dinner by the fire. Dinner turned into dessert many times over. By the time the small hours of the morning creeped in and their bodies were no longer capable of more, they lay naked in the moon light on rumpled sheets talking softly, touching softly, kissing softly. Sherlock lay on his stomach resting his head on folded arms. John rested on his side head propped up in his hand. He ran his left hand over Sherlock’s shoulder blades down each vertebra of his spine and over the soft rise of Sherlock’s bottom. John found different paths to the same destination over and over. Sherlock content to be stroked like the kitten he was. A cool breeze made goose flesh rise on perfect skin and Sherlock shivered, John laughed.

“Keep your head down. Be safe. Yeah? What else?” John stopped his travels and pulled the duvet up over Sherlock and himself.

“Give me your mobile.” Sherlock opened his hand as he asked. John handed it over. Sherlock flipped to his back, and tapped out a few words. Sam Smith’s voice filled the little space between them. Sherlock kept his eyes on John as the word sank in. The song talked about strangers being made to complete each other. “I know your out there we’re ment to be. So keep your head down and make it to me.” John said nothing, for fear his voice would break, the song played on and John pulled Sherlock into his arms kissing the top of his head. The song was perfect in every way. Like Sherlock. 

 

~~~  
Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church  
Berlin

 

“I don’t do voyeurism.” Sebastian scowled.

Jim gave him a look but said nothing, just turned his binoculars back to the open window. John and Sherlock’s open window.

Sebastian studied the psychopath in front of him. He had known Jim was insane from the moment they’d met, but to be honest that was half the attraction. It was the epitome of playing with fire. This was the man he loved. The man he killed for, would die for.

“Why are we here?” Sebastian leaned against the old stone wall of the church.

“Look at the way he touches him Tiger. Such reverence. It’s like worship.” Jim said the words with a hot hatred that Sebastian found incredibly arousing. “We’re here because that’s ours. No one else should have that.”

“There are other couples that mimic what we have. Why not them?” Sebastian didn’t really care, whatever Jim wanted he wanted. But he knew Jim enjoyed the game so he played along. 

“Because they are mirror images of us, who we are. All that we are. And that image must be broken.” 

Jim dropped the binoculars and approached Sebastian single minded.

“Here? In the church?” Sebastian asked as Jim roughly palmed his cock.

“I’m certain it’s not the first time the sanctuary has been defiled. And you and I dear Tiger, will make sure it’s not the last.”


	28. Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t think of a single thing.

Helloo (peeking around the corner afraid you may throw something at my head) The Cold East Wind here. Remember me? I have a little something for you if your interested. Before we go back to kicking ass and extracting names, we drop in on our boys where we left them, at The Waldorf Astoria in Berlin. 

 

~Conversation In The Small Hours of The Morning~

-Part One-

 

John and Sherlock spent three idyllic days at The Waldorf Astoria. No strike teams to call down upon the heads of would be miscreants. No big brother lurking behind every CCTV camera, just the two of them. Unguarded. Un rushed. Naked. Literally and figuratively.

~~~

 

“S...A...S.” Sherlock kissed the letters onto John’s belly, where he’d been resting his head and laughed quietly as it caused an involuntary flutter coupled with John’s light laughter. “How long have you been The Queens weapon?” Sherlock asked. 

“The Queens Weapon? Isn’t that a bit I don’t know dramatic?” John looked down at Sherlock’s playful eyes. God he was beautiful.

“Normally I would agree. It’s a description with a certain weight. But I’ve seen you work, and you’re quite good. No other word will do. So then how long?” Sherlock punctuated the words by trailing his fingers along the soft path of blond hair that ran from John’s navel all the way down...

“Ten years.” John’s own voice startled him with its aching far away tone as he continued to tangle his fingers through Sherlock’s mess of curls. 

“And how will it all end? Will you retire to the countryside one day?” Sherlock tried to remain jovial but the air had grown heavy and Sherlock cursed himself for such clumsy words.

“Mmm. Men like me don’t retire.” John ran his knuckles over sharp cheekbones and he met Sherlock’s pale liquid eyes. Sherlock looked away sadden by John’s words but said nothing. He was right tho. Men who did what John did, didn’t get old and tell war stories by the fire. They died bloody in the field at the hands of an enemy, the thought made Sherlock feel sick and hollow. A world without John. He let his head rest back on John’s belly, their breathing even and peaceful in this moment mixing and becoming one. John continued to rifle his fingers through thick silk grazing warm scalp.

“Sherlock.” John hummed the syllables soft and low. “Sherlock.” Drawn out over long sighs, Sherlock knew that this was perfection. This was all there was and all there ever needed to be. John. Just John. And him. It was heartbreaking. 

“Consulting dick.” John made to change the solemn tone. “Tell me more about what you do.”

 

Sherlock knew what John was trying to do so he took a deep breath through his nose, he steadied himself sat up and moved his naked form from between John’s legs to the foot of the bed sitting crossed legged back impossibly straight. He could feel the sting at the back of his eyes begin to betray him. But no. None of that. John had asked a question. Best get to it. Sherlock jutted his chin pinned a pretty smile on, and jumped in.

 

“Consulting dick?! Forensic scientist I’ll have you know, theoretical physicist, a botanist, a chemist and a private detective all in one. I lend assistance, to a Detective Inspector Lestrade, and his woefully inept team of subordinates when their out of their depth. Which is always. Mostly.”

John had sat up, back against the headboard while Sherlock outlined his litany of skills. John drew a sheet over his naked body that Sherlock snatched away throwing it to the floor grinning all the while he spoke. John smiled and gave a half laugh shook his head and pulled a pillow over his lap.

“I see what others overlook.” Sherlock raised a suggestive eyebrow at the offending pillow. “I solve the puzzle. Murder, cold cases, kidnapping, jewel heist. I also have a wide variety of clients, not just NSY. I’ve worked for the FBI, Shayetet 13, royal families, and well more then I care to name.”

 

“That’s brilliant. And incredibly dangerous. Now I see how you fell into the hands of the Russian’s. I’m shocked as shit I didn’t have to come rescue you sooner. You live a very interesting life Sherlock Holmes.”

“Would you like to be a part of it?” Sherlock asked impulsively. 

“More then anything.” John’s answer was automatic. Pillow joined sheet on the floor.


	29. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little bit of autoerotic asphyxiation, very brief mention. But if it’s a trigger in any way be warned.

~Conversations In The Small Hours Of The Morning~  
-Part Two-

 

They sat on the floor lulled by the spell of the fire and drink. Finding reasons without reasons for touch. Orange golden flame played in the shadow and dark, casting Sherlock in an otherworldly light that belonged to him.

The evening had been long and satisfying. Roving and devouring. The silence between them thick yet comfortable with the unspoken. Each quietly trying to figure out how this was possible, how the person sitting across from them had managed to be. Each touch a need greater then the last no matter how many times they found each other. 

“How are you so fuckin perfect?” John’s tone was a mix of passion and wonder his slightly drunk curse heavy with the sounds of his ancient Gaelic tongue.

“There’s no such thing as perfection John. Perfection is, broadly, a state of completeness and flawlessness. Nothing, lest of all me, is without its flaws.”

“Oh not true. Your mind is flawless.” John watched Sherlock closely and saw his cheeks begin to bloom and wrinkle in the lovely sweet smile that followed every compliment. 

“I’ll agree, I have my moments.” Sherlock’s voice pitched low and John could feel the deep resonance of Sherlock’s words in his very bones. The hunger that never strayed far, began to uncoil low and smoldering in John.

“I’ve seen you naked. Tasted your flesh. Fuck all if you’re not perfection.” The “F” rolling long and pronounced by John’s Scottish brogue.

“Such language John. It’s...profane.” Sherlock admonished in mock indignation adding that wicked smile that always led them both astray.

“But you blush up so pretty at the sound of a well placed fuck.” John puncuhated the word. “The posh boy likes vulgarity.” John teased. He loved to tease. “Not in yourself. Oh no, of course not. But in me.” John cocked an eyebrow.

“I think I’d rather like other things in you as well.” Sherlock paused, giving John a hot focused look, his baritone laden with sex. "I want you.”

“You have me.” John’s answer was immediate and wholehearted.

“Differently.” 

The one word was telling.

“You want to fuck me.” John smirked a crooked smile.

“Crude.” Sherlock’s eyes boarder into him. John could practically see Sherlock’s filthy thoughts.

“You like it.” John challenged.

“True. On both counts.” Sherlock tossed his head and looked at John sideways. Waiting. 

“Mmm. If...I let you fuck me...there will be...” John paused searching for the right words. “Commitments. Binding commitments.” His Gaelic heavier still.

“And will these commitments be...permanent?” Sherlock was too far gone to shy away from the implications of his question. 

“I can only hope.” John held back nothing. And to be honest there was no question in John’s mind that he would hold back any part of himself physical or emotional from Sherlock. Giving himself to someone never really happened to John. He was almost always expected to be in a place of dominance. But giving Sherlock all of what was already his? Well that seemed only natural. 

“Permanent commitments. Mmm.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow and asked softly a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “John are you a virgin?”

John literally fell over with a hoot of laughter sprawled snorting on the floor in tears clutching his stomach. Sherlock watched confused and concerned. Winded and hiccuping John tried to compose himself wiping tears from his eyes. “No love I am not a virgin. Far from it in fact.” John tried not to let laughter trickle back in.

“So then why the need for commitments? Wait...you don’t like it. No not true. You..”

“Stop. You’re half right. It’s not what I enjoy most. But I do like it, just with the right person.” 

“And that’s me?” Sherlock was a bit sheepish in his question.

“You beautiful fool. Yes. A thousand times yes. And the desire for commitments has nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with me wanting to have you all to myself for as long as you’ll let me. This just seemed like a very enjoyable means to an ends.”

Sherlock gave this some thought. Sex was most certainly an age old tool, hell he’d been known to use it as such himself, but this wasn’t that. No. Not really. This was surrender. Not just for John, but for Sherlock as well. John was willing to give himself to gain Sherlock. Sherlock had to ask himself was he willing to do the same? Surrender? 

“I agree to your terms.” Apparently yes.

“Was this your vision of us all those months ago?” John was curious.

“Absolutely not. Lovers are usually an experiment in some way or a distraction from boardum. Not...this.” Sherlock gestured with his glass at the surroundings.

“So I’m assuming I was a distraction?”

“Never. You were and are, an attraction. Very rare.”

“Is that all?” John felt an unexpected stab at the thought.

Sherlock studied John, he was made golden by the fire stunning almost regal. Sherlock was always so fascinated by the way this man made him think and feel. “No my Gaelic king, that is not all.”

“Is that what you call me in that beautiful head of yours.”

“Among other things.”

“I don’t think you would appreciate what I call you.”

“I already know what you call me.” Sherlock was all cheeky confidence.

“Bollocks.”

“I do.” Sherlock’s voice was a little shrill.

“Pove it then.” 

“Sexy.” Sherlock shot back the word triumphantly.

“Easy.” John rolled his eyes and tisked in disappointment.

“Gorgeous.” 

“Proves you’ve got a mirror.” John huffed.

“English rose.”

“Wrong.” Now it was John’s turn to be triumphant. 

“Oh really. What then? Posh boy? Pretty boy?” Sherlock made airy hand gestures. John laughed.

“Both are perfect disrciptions, and both are wrong. From the first time you looked at me with that other worldly blue green gold gaze of yours...I’ve been hopelessly falling. Stunningly prepossessing that’s what you are. And that’s what I call you in my head. Now can we stop talking?” John sat his drink down and leaned in.

“We never have to speak again.” Sherlock met him, and was devoured in a hungry hard pressed kiss that quickly sat them on a path with only one destination. They rise to their knees to better get rid of the barrier of clothing.

“Then how will we communicate?” John’s voice was gruff and matched the biting kisses that mark every inch of Sherlock’s newly exposed flesh. 

Sherlock tilts his head back inviting more, all. “Non...non...” Sherlock’s words catch in his throat and he struggles with brain function as John’s path leads him from one hard nipple then the next swiping his tongue over and over.

John removes his mouth and says the word. “Nonverbal love. Nonverbal.” This is said as John presses Sherlock closer and firmly rubs his cock through the rich fabric of his trousers.

Trousers that are suddenly in the way, Sherlock immediately begins to shed them rocking and pulling awkwardly on his knees finally exposing long limbs and long cock that John doesn’t hesitate to kiss and slid into his mouth. This wins John a satisfying jerk of Sherlock’s whole body, so he swallows him again and again in a fevered rhythm, Sherlock’s thighs quiver and give out, landing him on his back under a hungry predator. John practically rips off his own clothing.

He stood over Sherlock feet planted either side of his hips admiring the man spread out on the floor. Sherlock arches up and runs his hands from John’s ankles, up the calf’s, around the front of his thighs just short of being able to reach his cock. The action is too much to bare. John squats down taking Sherlock in his mouth again sucking hard leaving Sherlock’s cock wet with saliva and precum. John quickly alines himself with the head of Sherlock’s shaft and takes him slowly into his heat. 

“Fuck Sherlock.” John allows his body to adjust and revels in the fullness. Push and slide. Slowly deeper.

Sherlock wanted to watch, wanted see the expression on John’s face catalog every nuance. But he couldn’t Stars are busting behind his eyelids and he raps out a repatriation of, “John oh God John John fuck yes John oh god yes.”

John’s control was no better lost to the heart pounding up and down on Sherlock’s cock, edging closer so quickly towards the boiling prostate orgasm. John encircled Sherlock’s throat with one hand, the other hand guided Sherlock’s hand to John’s painfully rock hard dick. John rocked on Sherlock’s shaft no longer up and down but grinding and jutting his hips back and forth his cock slinging in Sherlock’s clenched fist.

It’s all too much. Sherlock can’t breathe, he digs harsh fingertips into John’s thigh he trimbales and cries out as the stars behind his eyes seem to travel his whole body centering in his cock in an explosion of blinding white swirls around him. He hears his name being called breathless and desperate from a far off distance.

“Sherlo...fuck...Sherlock.” John’s whole world shatters as he cums in Sherlock’s grip loads of white hot cum jerk from John’s cock covering Sherlock as the prostate orgasm erupts within him with heart stopping rapture.

The come down is impossibly slow and for a split second John is gazing up at a dark hair angel who morphs into his Sherlock.

“Hello.” They smile at each other.

“That was...” John props up on his elbows.

“Binding.” Sherlock finishes for him. 

“I was thinking something along the lines of unbelievable, but yours works too.”

 

 

On the third day...

 

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.” Her voice was uncharacteristically heavy the two simple words saying more then they should. “What is it?”

“How do you know it’s anything?”

“Twins remember, now out with it.” John tickled the toes that had been resting in his lap making the owner start and smile up at him, John dropped a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead and began wandering about the room.

“You’re to leave day after tomorrow. Deep cover.”

Deep cover. The words fell like rocks in the pit of his stomach. Undercover opts meant long stretches in the field which in the past had been merely part of the job. John had enjoyed slipping into a new skin becoming who he needed to be to get the job done. Now the thought of shedding who he was in this moment was physically painful. Johns chest felt full of lead. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What else?” His voice was strained and it was the last thing Sherlock heard before John left the room.

“Drug trafficking in the Golden Triangle. You’ll have a deep cover partner.” Mercy’s silence was too long. 

“Stop trying to spare me Mercy. Who is it?” John could hear her suck in a deep breath before she rushed into the words.

Mercy was accustomed to delivering news of dangerous orders for sketchy locations with nefarious people, it was kind of her thing and she did it with just the right mix of tact and humor to make it acceptable. What wasn’t her thing was giving her brother information that would hurt him or throw him off his game. And if ever Mercy had seen a game changer Sherlock Holmes was it. John was the best. But love supersedes all in even the best of us.

 

“Sebastian Moran. He was chosen for this particular opt because he speaks...”

“Hindi. I know. Fuck.” John had done his due diligence on Moran. He had been a solider, a rather good one in fact and now he was God only knew what and lover to a psychopath. What else Moran was John wasn’t sure but all of Johns training told him that Moran and his Magpie lover where not friends of the crown. Therefore not friends of his. The only solace was the fact that the most dangerous half of the criminally insane duo would be with John and not somewhere prowling around Sherlock. . “How long?”

“J.” Mercy’s voice was pained. “Six months. Maybe more. We’ve had Moran on the inside for a month now, you’ll work the opposite end of the supply line and we’ll get them in a pincer move.”

John could hardly pull in a breath. “Why so long?”

“It’s a large optiration. And two years ago the Americans botched the opt and now the sellers skittish. J, never once in all our years have you questioned a mission. You have loved this job every step of the way. I think it’s time to take a closer look at what you love now.”

John had known the speech was unavoidable, and that ever bit of it was true. Twins and all.

“Thank you Mercy.” 

 

~~~

John stepped into the cool Berlin night air, totally obvious to the old world beauty in front of him. Beauty was behind him, sitting quietly waiting just for him. But he couldn’t expect him to wait six months, most likely more. It was too much to ask of a new...relationship? Was that what this was? The past three days had been unlike any in John’s history. But just because it was beautiful and alien and familiar all at once didn’t make it a full fledged relationship. Did it? In the end it was all just semantics to John. He loved Sherlock, plain and simple. Fuck. So now what? The job was the job, just as it had always been. The problem was he wasn’t the same man. How could he be after...

“Sherlock.”

 

~~~

John had never been *in* love. The closest he’d come was Holly, in uni. A tall statuesque beauty with jet black hair aqua blue eyes and skin like cream. (He had always had a type.) Their relationship had been...calm. Normal. Dull. Holy was easy on the eyes and pleasant enough, so John had asked her out. Three years later John found himself ignoring the nagging voice in his head that told him time and time again that this was not his life. But despite his doubts he had began the long and arduous trudge down the road toward domesticity and supposed material bliss. For three years John endured empty conversations with Holly and her equally empty friends, predictable dates and marginally enjoyable sex. 

 

“The girl is a succubus John!” Mercy had been emphatic, she always was on the subject of John’s future. “Don’t be jealous when I’m a super spy for MI5 and you’re stuck living in Hampstead with your fat wife and five fat babies and you’re gray and balding from stress or boredom.”

John had laughed hardly at his sister that day. A week later when Mercy had actually started at MI5, he wasn’t laughing anymore. The choice had been easy from there. A life time of mind numbing normalcy or “super spy” as Mercy had put it. Holy had protested hotly, and John couldn’t help but think maybe if she had shown some of that fire in the past he wouldn’t be packing his things and heading to parts unknown. John had left that life that and woman behind without a second thought. The years that followed where dangerous and exciting, love had never been on his radar. Sex on the other hand, had. Every place John traveled he sampled their wares, both male and female. In later years refining his taste to male only. But still not even a whisper of a relationship. Until now. The now that was Sherlock. Cool and aloff like the moon, brilliant and mezereising like the stars. John had thought Sherlock would turn out to be a fling that would burn hot and fast, only to cool and eventually go out like all the rest. Oh how wrong he had been. John had realized early on that Sherlock was something incredible. The intensity of what they had was like power itself. Nothing comepared. It felt like they were the center of the known universe and all else could fall away. So to say John was in love, was an injustice.

~~~

Sherlock wanted to give John his privacy he really did but he’d known the call was from Mercy which could only mean one thing. A job. Where now? Sherlock thought, hell itself? Sherlock sprang up from the sofa and began to pace the room occasionally casting glances towards the master suite. He wanted to run to John throw his arms around him and just stay until time ran out...

~~~

Needless to say, Sherlock had never been in love. He’d never even come close. The thought of losing his heart to someone had never even entered his mind, because for Sherlock sex and love were in no way related. Sex was a distraction that could sometimes be used as a means to an end. Love was dangerous period. He tried the boyfriend thing in uni. (Hell he’d even tried the girlfriend thing, which he had found out exceedingly quickly was most certainly not his area.) It had all ended badly, leaving Sherlock with scars both visible and emotional. When Mycroft had found him in his dorm room one weekend with a nasty head wound in a pool of his own blood, he had raged at Sherlock for getting sentimental and letting this happen. 

“This is so like you. Getting involved. Getting hurt.”

“It’s merely a gash in the scalp, a lot of bleeding, but not as horrific as you make it out to be.” 

“I’m not talking about the head wound Sherlock!” Mycroft had been nearly incoherent in his anger.

The young man who’d hurt Sherlock in so many ways was supposedly shipped off to a different school somewhere in Wales. Sherlock was never able to find a record of him. From then on he’d kept his distance with his lovers not that he’d been in any danger of falling for one of them, his lovers had at best been no more then tolerable and none had made any type of lasting impression. John Watson had changed the game entirely. John was the sun. Brilliant and powerful and necessary for life. He made Sherlock’s analytical mind work in poetic ways produced a well spring of emotion Sherlock hadn’t known himself capable of. Lust that distracted and consumed coupled with a beautiful heartache. Yes. John was the Sun. John was beyond Sherlock’s dreams. Sherlock’s dreams? Hell a dreams as grand as John had never even occurred to Sherlock. Now he found himself practically quoting Shakespeare and seriously contemplating a tattoo. Dangerous. Period.

~~~

 

Sherlock walked up behind John and snaked his arms around John’s waist, Sherlock rested his chin on John’s shoulder and breathed in the warm sent of his neck oaky and male mixed with the cool night air.

“You’re going away.”

“Mmm.” John nodded slightly in agreement not trusting himself with words.

Sherlock frowned and he choked a bit when he spoke again. 

“For..a..a long while.” Sherlock’s internal monologue filled to bursting with screaming objections, but for once he kept quite. Not because his better angles had finally won out, no, because the indescribable heartache was swallowing his abliy to speak. Love was as cruel as it was exulted. Sherlock longed to cover John in words of love, but why? They knew. Had known for some time now. There was no need for the soul crushing pain the words would bring.

“The Golden Tringle. Six months, longer maybe, I never really know.”

“Six months really isn’t that long.” ‘It’s an eternity!’ Sherlock screamed to the rafters in every room of his mind palace.

“Sherlock...deep cover opts are...complicated.” John took Sherlock hands from around his waist and stepped out of his embrace turning to face him. “The things I have to do...the person I need to become. Look...I don’t expect anything from you.” John held Sherlock’s hands grazing his thumbs over promante knuckles.

“But you most certainly should John. Wasn’t it you who said the commitments were binding?”

“I did.” John smiled taking Sherlock’s meaning.

“Well then you should expect much indeed.” Sherlock advance winding his arms back in place and smothered his face in John’s neck.

John let his hands travel Sherlock’s narrow waist feeling the warmth of the sinewy muscles of his back move under his touch he ran his hands down to the small of his back up to his shoulder blades and then retraced his hands along the path they had taken. John sighed and pulled away again, this time out of arms reach. Sherlock looked bemused.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t about us...well it is...it’s completely about us isn’t it...opts like this...this long require a certain amount of believe ability...sometimes...shit...all the time...”

“You’ll need to have sex with people.”

“Yes. I will. And now there’s you and...”

“I knew who and what you where with every step that I persuaded you.” Sherlock shrugged resigned to what was.

“You know that this,” John stepped in close and put his hand over Sherlock heart. “what we are isn’t that? That you’re more then that to me? Everything in fact. Nothing about us was ever part of the job.”

“The body is merely transport John. Or at lest it was. But I understand the need. Just..be safe. And come back to me. Nothing else is important.”

“Fair enough.”

They stayed on the balcony in silence. Sherlock on the verge of the blurting out a string of words full of uncharted feelings and John silently cursing the universe for all its capricious nature.


	30. New Developments...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...Mycroft.

~SAS Safe House~  
Location unknown

 

“Hello Dr. Watson.”

 

John spared a glance over his shoulder but didn’t turn from the steel table were he was cleaning his gun. He had known it was only a matter of time before he got a visit from big brother.

 

“Holmes the elder. Come to see me off? Give us a kiss.” 

 

Mycroft’s whole body seemed to scoff at the mans flirtatious charm. 

 

“Hardly. In light of new developments, I felt another brief visit was in order.”

“And what do these new developments have to do with me?”

“After you’re verboten little confab with Crown Prince Haakon, there’s a hefty price on your head.”

John tuned and gave Mycroft one of his better smiles continuing to clean his weapon. 

“In my experience a price is easier to collect when you know where to start.” 

John knew that there had been some buzz in the underworld about a contract being taken out on a diplomat fitting his description that had attended a gathering at The Royal Palace, but he wasn’t losing any sleep over it. Two of the assassins contracted for the job had already missed their mark and paid dearly for it. Most had no idea who the diplomate in question was and the ones who did wanted nothing to do with the hit.

“If Sherlock can track you on a whim. Others can find you as well.” 

“Can we leave Sherlock out of this? Please.” The smile dropped away as quickly as it had appeared. 

“That’s an excellent suggestion on your part Dr. Watson. I wouldn’t want my brother in harms way because of your carelessness.” Mycroft’s face was pinched and growing agitated.

“I’ve never been careless on a mission in my life.” John turned back resembling his L9A1, meticulously.

“Careless or not it would seem that the Haakon situation garnered you some attention. Attention that I do not wished be focused on my brother.” Mycroft’s voice pitched just a little too high.

“Sherlock is every inch a grown man, and I don’t give two fucks about him being your brother.” John stated calmly but grinned to himself at the mention of inches and placed his gun on the table.

“Well fortunately I have people who give as many fucks as necessary that he is my brother and...”

“And,” John turned to face Mycroft full on cutting off his attempt at threatening with his own steel conviction “if you send them my way I will send them back to you with their heads in a box! You have no one who can touch me. That’s not a boast, and we both know it. So unless you want me to burn through your people like paper dolls I suggest we cut the bullshit.”

“You Dr. Watson are over confident.” Mycroft refused to be rattled simply because this man was an elite killer. 

“No. I’m not.”

“I grow tired of this nonsense.”

“You have the power to make it stop. You want me out of Sherlock’s life for his safety. Well the truth of the matter is he wasn’t all that safe before I came along. I am the best at what I do, and I love your brother.”

“And that has what to do with any of this? You believe love, your love will protect him?”

“Yes.” The answer came so swift and resolute Mycroft was stunned silent. “Now are we done here?”

 

“Foolish.” The word was spat out and full of scorn. “Yes we are inarguably done here. I honestly don’t know why I bothered. If the contact dosent kill you, the golden triangle most certainly will. And then Sherlock will be safe from this...foolishness.” Mycroft was flippant. Too much so.

John chambered a round and slid his L9A1 into the small of his back. “Say that again.”

“I believe you heard me well enough.” Mycroft held his ground but John could see the first glint of panicked doubt start to form behind his eye. 

John smiled. “We’ll have to this again soon Mr. Holmes.” Satisfied that his meaning was clear.


	31. The Craig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dose John know something about this opt that we don’t?

John looked out the window without seeing. Soon he would land at a well hidden airstrip on the Pakistan, India border. Soon he would began the very first mission he didn’t want to go on. The key in John’s palm felt cool and nearly weightless. The Craig. He dropped the key into the envelope along with the letter.

 

~London~  
Two Weeks Later

 

Sherlock took the seventeen steps in leaps and bounds eager to get back to the thumbnails he had waiting for him. On the top landing he stopped dead. The air was warm and full with a not an unpleasant but wholly out of place sent. Mandarin, osmanthus. 

“Viktor and Rolf ‘Flowerbomb.’ Woman.” Sherlock said as more of a statement then a question as he came around the corner face to face with said woman.

“J, said you were clever.” She was dressed in form fitting black from curls to heels save for her red lips and nails. Ah, Cardinal. John’s second. But wait, why was she her? Why was she here!? “Calm down. He’s fine.” Cardinal smiled, but it was far from reassuring. Sherlock attributed it to the fact that smiling was not her normal state.

“He sent you.” Sherlock said wistfully as if anything even remotely connected with John was a source of wonder. He waited for conformation as Cardinal’s vibrant green eyes appraised him. He didn’t like the scrutiny, or the irony. 

“I’m in London for a time. Do you remember me?” Cardinal moved about the sitting room clearly assessing things, vantage points, entry and exit, threat levels and the like.

“I remember everything of importance. You’re important to John.” Sherlock’s roundabout answer caused a genuine smile to cross her face. 

“Fair enough. I have something for you.” Cardinal handed Sherlock an envelope that was too heavy and uneven to be a simple note. “My mobile number is in your phone. Let’s hope you never need to use it.” She gave Sherlock another appraising head to toe sweep seemingly satisfied by what she saw her mouth kicked up at the corner. She left somehow silently on stiletto heels. Sherlock went to the window and watched her become part of the night.

 

Sherlock frowned at the envelope in his hand, his brain couldn’t fix on a single proper thought. ‘Sherlock’ stared back at him in strong clean letters. Sherlock ran his fingers over the ink never more in love with his name then he was in that moment. Blindly stumbling to his chair in front of the fire, he pondered what could John possibly have to say? Sherlock got to his feet and pulled the knife from the mantel. The knife rent the paper loudly in the quiet flat. Sherlock hesitated. He was being ridiculous. But what could John have to say? Deep breath. Keep calm and carry on...

 

Sherlock, 

Hello Love. We once talked about retirement and how unlikely a prospect that is for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to join you, but even if I can’t, I want The Craig, to be yours. In my dreams this is where I see us, old and gray. The Craig has always been my home. But now when I think of home, I think of you. It’s only right that the two should meet.

-Yours Alone-  
John Hamish Watson 

 

Sherlock tipped the envelope and let the key fall into his palm. It was weightless...and yet all the weight in the world. He balled his fist tight around it and held it to his chest. It took a moment before Sherlock realized he was shaking and apparently crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I urge you to Google “The Craig, Scotland.” If I were anything more then a writer, I would have a link posted here. But I’m not, so I don’t. And I’m sorry. Go look at The Craig, if for no other reason then to see the lovely green bedroom John and Sherlock would share.


	32. Long And Longer Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s look in on our boys and see how their doing with four thousand miles separating them.

~India~

 

John’s first two weeks in India, were far more eventful then he had anticipated. For one he hadn’t thought in his first few days as an illegal pharmaceutical manufacturer and distributor, that he would find himself in a fire fight on an illegal airstrip with Moran or should he say “Doyle” by his side. But needless to say: he had.

~~~

 

John pounded a savage elbow once, twice, three, times into the side of the mans face, the man staggered reaching wildly for balance, John ripped the gun from his grip turned it on him and fired twice. John barely ducked a vicious in coming blow from behind seeing the burly man in his peripheral vision, John spun abruptly and forced his knife up into the mans solar plexus. He could feel the bone crack with the force of the blow and could have easily ripped the mans rib cage straight up and open. He didn’t. 

“Impressive but..no need for dick measuring Watson.” Moran shouldered his rifle and squeezed off two shots that leveled the remaining gunman and flashed John an arrogant smile. “I hear tell we’re well matched. It would seem you and I traveled in the same circles.”

“I wouldn’t say same circles.” John stabbed his knife into the dirt effectively cleaning it of blood and gore. “Perhaps they overlap a bit, but not the same.”

“True, you like your boys on the posh side.”

“Fuck all if you don’t too.” John countered sounding a bit less outraged then he’d intended. They both laughed.

~~~

 

Second, John hadn’t really expected anyone to be foolish enough to try to execute a hit on him while he was on a job. He’d been wrong about that too. But not expecting something and not being prepared were two vastly different things. John was always prepared.

~~~

John cut through an ally leading the would be assassin who had been following him for the better part of ten minutes. The streets of Jaipur where still a bit of a tangle for John so it had taken him a moment to find a secluded enough spot for their meeting. 

Once John was deep in the shadows of a dark and dusty back street he stopped and pulled out his mobile, just as he’d suspected, the man made his move. 

The assassin literally jumped from the shadows dressed like a ninja. He was not a ninja. John had fought real ninja. This man in costume was a far cry from the real thing. The fight was quick, and completely unwinable. SAS, didn’t stand for Always prepared, but it may as well have.

 

~Two Months Later~  
London

 

Sherlock slid into the back of the taxi oblivious to anything aside from the message he was frantically tying out to Lestrade. 

“Hello there.” A young man, a very young man, early twenties, dark brown eyes, chocolate brown hair, his dicription was plan, the man himself was anything but. His eyes were dark brown yes, but not so brown as to be black these wild eyes were the color of jewel enstatite, and the chocolate hair was shot through with gold, and there was an engery about him that made Sherlock pay attention even more then his looks did. The man Sherlock thought was a spring wound too tight. Thats when it hit him...

“Voltaire.” John’s demolitions specialist. Still recovering from the Boko Haram affair, but leaving London soon.

“Yes. Why yes that’s me.” He didn’t say another word just quietly gazed out the window. Sherlock could relate. “Where are you headed?” He asked after a time.

“New Scotland Yard. Can I help you with anything else?” Sherlock frowned.

“Oh no.” Silence again.

“Fine. So is this how things are going to go while he’s gone? One of you dropping in every so often to look in on me?”

“We don’t have to drop in to look in on you...”

“I’m aware that my flat is bugged, thank goodness you had the decency to only go as far as the sitting room.”

“J, wouldn’t let Pope wire the whole place. Too bad.” Voltaire’s smile was cheeky and made his eyes playful he leaned towards Sherlock with an out stretched hand, offering him an old Nokia mobile phone. There was one voice mail. The taxi came to a light and Voltaire slipped out without so much as a nod.

The voice mail was short. Too short. But it was John, and Sherlock held that dear.

“Hello Love. I know you already live under a certain level of surveillance and protection, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep at night. And I can’t do that unless my people have eyes on you while I can’t. So I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a few things in my absence. Please understand.”

Sherlock listened to the message twice more. Each time filling in the missing words at the end they were right there, so close, he could hear John holding them back. Sherlock whispered his response into the universe. 

 

~India, Pakistan Broader~  
Five Months In

 

John grimaced and turned his head pressing himself against the wall as tight as he could waiting for the hail of bullets tearing the air right in front of his face to subside. Stop. Three seconds, dead silence. John sprinted to Moran’s location, laying down his own steady barrage of bullets as he went sliding into the dirt right next to the down man. John hastily pulled a L109A1 hand grenade from his pocket and tossed it into the windows with whatever terrorist still remained. John’s gaze remained focused on the building in front of him as he groped blindly trying to find a pulse on Moran silently praying to the old Gods that he hadn’t inadvertently killed a psychopaths boyfriend. What he got for his troubles was his hand smacked away.

“Not that easy.” Moran’s voice was choked and betrayed his pain. “Just a little rattled.” The grenade ripped the night air with lethal blinding force.

John scrambled to his feet but stayed as low as he could helping an unsteady Moran up. “Brilliant now let’s move out before we’re over run yeah.” John shouldered Moran’s weight and they headed away from strike zone.

~~~

“Hello Mercy.”

“Hello J. Sitrep.”

“Twenty six dead at the location you gave us, but I’m certain it’s not their main base of operations.”

“Well I’m only as good as my intel. Nothing beats actual boots on the ground. So you tell me.”

“Do a satellite search for heat signatures in a twenty mile radius in all directions. Tell me what that brings back and Mercy...call up the rest of Methos.”

“Done.”

“This isn’t turning out to be the opt we planned.”

“No it isn’t.” Mercy was conciliatory.

“We need to find out why.” There was frustration in his tone but not for her and she knew it. 

“Copy that J.” What had been slated as a long term deep cover opt had turned into a near constant battle with every terrorist on the India Pakistan boarder.

“Thank you Mercy.”

~~~

“Could you give this to John please?” Sherlock’s arm abruptly shot out towards the man behind the news paper.

Quizzical blue eyes peeked over the edge. The man cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” 

“When you see him. Can you give him my letter. Hand delivery is so much more personal wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock was all charm.

The paper slowly lowered. “Young man I don’t know who you think I am...”

“Flattery. How de rigueur. I think you’re John’s communications specialist. Pope.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “I have no idea who you mean.”

“Don’t you? You’ve sat here at Speedy’s three days doing what?”

“Reading the paper and drinking tea.” The man said in his defense.

“Exactly. Three days, three papers, from three different counties. Your shoes are French. Not just French made, but come from France exclusively, yesterday you answer the phone in Spanish, your blue eyes say that clearly that’s not your native tongue, and each day your tea of choice has been an Indian favorite Darjeeling. Conclusion: world traveled multi lingual cryptologist and communications specialist. Now will you be delivering my letter?”

The man stood folded his paper tucked it under his arm, took Sherlock’s letter and walked off.

Sherlock could only assume that was a yes.

 

John 

I know that this is an archaic form of communication that is basically going the way of the proverbial dinosaur but there’s something to be said about ink on paper that creates a visceral connection between the words and the reader. I myself have only recently come to realize this. That being said: I hope my words reach you in the same way yours have me. I miss you so much more then I thought possible. Please don’t mistake my meaning. Natural I’d known your absence would have an impact but this...is cruel. I can only hope that you’re not as tortured as I am. Keep your head down. 

Yours  
~William Sherlock Scott Holmes~

 

John stretched absentmindedly at his scruffy beard as he contemplated the last line of Sherlock’s letter. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep his head down these days. It seemed as if India wanted him dead in the worst way. But he couldn’t dwell on that right now. Moran/Doyle was haded his way with news.

“William you old so and so.” Moran was loud but that was the plan draw attention. Moran was putting on a show for his buyers with his rich Scottish contact.

“Their not here yet.” John/William smiled and rose to greet him.

“I know just warning up the crowd.” Moran slouched down comfortably in his chair lit up a fag and singled for a coffee, the man was totally at home in this land. He knew the language and the coutumes as if he were born to them. That fact certainly gave him the upper hand in this opt. This long fucking opt that was falling apart at John’s feet. It seemed that everything that could go wrong had. It was no wonder then that things were not progressing as scheduled and it looked more and more like John would be here longer then expect. Fuck. All he wanted was to get back to somewhere even close to Sherlock. Fuck. But first things first. 

 

~Jaipur, India~  
Two Months Later

 

The Nehru Bazaar, buzzed with its brightly colored whirlwind of people, sights, sounds, and smells. Families, tourist and merchants crowed the paths that led from one intoxicating, exotic discovery to the next. John wondered past booths of delights without a second glance at the wares. This place had become part of his day, strolling in for a bit of fruit or end of day Pad Thai. This day was no different, John played his role of criminal pharmaceutical rep stepping out form the Hotel Sweet Dream and off on his daily trip to the market. He needed to be seem. But more importantly he needed to see. His opt was going badly. Had been since the onset and John intended to find out why. But first he had to find out who. So he walked the market looking like any other out of place tourist but this was recon. John looked for the subtle little oddities. He fanned interest in a bolt of fabric with a mind boggling array of colors when a boy of seven or eight ran past him in a flash bumping him hard on the way. John watched the boy run away backwards yelling “Sorry English!” as he went. John smirked at the whelp and felt at his pockets, the weight was off but not in the minus as he’d expect, heavier. John reached a hand inside to grab cash to pay for the nuts and fruit he’d move to and felt the distinct weight of a mobile phone. What the hell?

John stared down at the GPS coordinence 20.0225 latitude, 75.1742 longitude. Off the top of his head he knew it to be somewhere in Maharashtra, where exactly he couldn’t say.  
His mobile buzzed.

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.”

“Did you receive the intel?”

“I did.”

“Good. You have six hours including your turnaround. Not a second long.”

“Alright. Anything else I should know?”

“Hit your coordinates.”

“Copy that.”

“Good luck J.”

“Thank you Mercy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are the coordinates leading? How badly will the opt really go? Will Sherlock get a visit from another member of team Methos? And dose Moriarty plan on letting his Tiger lose in India?


	33. Scorched Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STOP! This chapter had blasphemous overtones. It is not intended to offend, its simply how I see things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon I will have to credit all my good ideas to the brilliant conductor of light PatPrecieux. So if you enjoy our little moment of reflection you have only Pat to thank.

~Ellora Temple~  
Maharashtra, India

John tilted his head back and gazed up into the stain glass canopy of leaves a soft breeze made the shadows dance and cool the sweat on his brow. John couldn’t help but think that when India wasn’t trying to fuckin kill him it was rather beautiful. John sighed took a drink of water and rechecked his coordinates. Just up ahead through the arch of the open air temple should put him right on the mark. He looped his GPS to his belt and pulled out his L9A1 before walking on. The temple was divided into light and dark long and narrow for its length, it darkened towards the end were there was an ancient alter carved onto the rock wall cast in cool shadow by the mountain behind it. There were two more arched openings one to John’s left and right with stone steps wondering off into the jungle. John trained his gun on the tall black clad figure coming up the path on his left. His gaze deceived him, John’s aim faltered, and his arms dropped. 

Sherlock stopped just inside the temple just out of John’s reach. He was dressed in a black kurta that he wore with causal regal bearing. This...this impossible beauty...this relentless madman...was the last thing John had expected to find here. But find him he had and dear God how he loved this man. 

They stood both transfixed.

Sherlock stared openly at John. His John, dressed in full camo and oh dear God he’d grown a beard! Sherlock felt his knees wobble and then he started babbling.

“The...The sun. Yes. The sun is wrong. It’s wrong...it’s all....just. It’s not...not right John. Without...” 

John found his feet first and edged closer.

“Stop. I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Is there some sort of a global apocalypse nigh that I need to fix?” John itched to grab him, rip him out of his clothes and devour him inch by inch.

“No No.” Sherlock stammered and John smiled and getting closer. “It’s not that. It’s just...the sun is no longer as it should be. It’s wrong. Because somehow...” Sherlock took a breath and stepped as close as he trusted himself to. “you’re the sun.”

“And here I am thinking you the moon. Dark and light all at once. Luminous and beautiful. So close, never close enough. ‘Moon of my life.’” John reached for Sherlock’s wrist and pulled him slowly...slowly toward him into a kiss. Creeping fingers sliding into warm curls keeneding his scalp. Soft and slow feeling his way back into their familier rhythm. Sherlock moaned and gave in to months of longing twining his arms around John sinking into the sensation of warm languid honey in their vains. Their kisses were a slow devouring, not frantic but oh so very urgent. Their clothing stripped away and was replaced by light and shadow. Sherlock’s skin was dappled with the jungles defused sunlight that shifted in the breeze ghosting patterns over his body. John could have cried looking at him had it not been for the burning hunger building in him.

John stood no less beautiful in Sherlock’s eyes. Naked still bathed in sunlight his whole form awash in gold save for his brilliant blue eye. Jewels and gold. Sherlock’s knees suffered yet again. But this time he allowed himself to sink bottom resting on his heel arms outstretched beckoning to his lover. John walked into Sherlock’s embrace looking every bit like a God.

 

The alter was used for worship. Sherlock on his knees in supplication as John cried praise to the heavens. They extolled each other to the edge of the sun needing to have and be had, Sherlock’s body practically wept for John, glistening beads of precum providing much needed lube.

John lay full out on the large gray stone and bit down on his lip as he watched Sherlock sacrificing himself on his cock. Both hands pressed against John’s pectoral muscles Sherlock hung his head low curls dangled in his face contorted in a mask of agonizing pleasure love and pain, every lean beautiful muscle strained as he let himself be filled with John’s weight. He was glorious.

“Christ you’re beautiful.” John said the words as his hands and trace over flesh as smooth and white as marble.

 

John reveled in the sharp bit of Sherlock’s pelvic bone grinding into his hips while he stroked Sherlock’s dick bringing him to the brink. Sherlock begs, he pleads for more for John.

 

“Please. Please.” Wet and sweaty.

John gives him all he ask for and fucked into him header. Heart pounding Sherlock worked his hips in grinding downward circles driving John’s cock deeper for the love of God deeper! John pushed pushed pushed Sherlock’s hips back in sharp jerks and he met him thrusting up up up heels digging into stone knees bent. 

“Jesus. Let me fuck you....fuck...Christ...let...me...”

Sherlock arched against John’s frantic pounding release hot and sudden within forcing Sherlock’s eruption his own stream of endless white ribbons shot over his shoulder into the canopy of leaves behind him. They silenced the jungle around them with gruff praise and shouts. They lay still joined together and let the breeze cool their hot flesh. John with his fingers tangled in silk as usual and Sherlock kissing any of John within reach. Sherlock pushed himself up on John’s chest and smiled down at him peppering his face with yet more kisses. 

“John.” Sigh. Kiss. “John.” It was a powerful vibrating rumble that resonated in John’s soul. It was the preamble to words that John knew could not bare.

“Sherlock don’t. Please. It’ll kill me.” John caressed Sherlock’s knees and tights still in the squat position John still inside him.

Sherlock ached his face an open mask of love. “I need to say the words John.”

“Please. Please don’t. If you do and I can’t be with you every second of every day. I’ll die. I can’t.”

“I need you to know.” 

“I do. I promise I do.” John sat up swiftly but carful not to pull them apart, and grabbed Sherlock’s face kissing his reassurance.

This was heartbreaking. Why were they always torn this way? They parted. Slowly. Reluctantly. 

John sat on the alter and watched Sherlock collecting scattered clothes he looked like a porcelain God in the wrong Eden.

“I wish I could have a picture of you here, like this.” John was in awe. He always was. He was aware that beauty was a word he used over much when it came to Sherlock, but the man was the purest definition of the word. He positively owned beauty.

“Perhaps on our honeymoon we’ll come back here and I’ll let you photograph me just so.” Sherlock posed and cocked his head with that devil sweet smile.

“I love you.” John blurted out the words even as his brain screamed at him, what the actual fuck?! 

Sherlock was paralyzed. A bucket of ice water being tossed on him by a purple elephant would have been less shocking.

A twig snapped unnaturally. John had his L9A1 off the ground and in hand with Sherlock behind him in a naked flash, scanning the foliage for the source. Five very distinct shuuuup sounds whizzed through the air. Sniper rifle. And then a radio crackled. 

“J. Come in. Over.” It was Cardinal.

John gathered Sherlock’s pants and trousers before responding. His own still forgotten.

“J, here copy Cardinal. Over.”

“The immediate threat is naturalized, but we need to move the assets now. Over.”

“Agreed. Copy that. Over.” Sherlock was dressed, John was naked. But dressed in a blink. Bishop and Pope, entered one from each side advancing on Sherlock. Cardinal remained at her hidden position. “Take him.” John ordered.

“What?! No!” Sherlock protested and moved away a little frantic. John held up a closed fist. His men froze. He went to Sherlock John took his hands and rubbed his thumbs over his knuckles.

“Sherlock love. I don’t have time to argue with you. So please, if you love me, go with them. I need to know you’re safe.” 

Sherlock hesitated looking about to protest, when his shoulders slumped and his eyes softened he put his hands on Johns face and kissed his lips he rested his forehead on John’s. “Keep your head down.” The words cracked just a little and Sherlock move away to join Pope and Bishop. John made another hand gesture without turning around and they left. John squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose taking deep steading breaths trying with all his mite not the break as the love of his life was lead away from him yet again.

 

~~~

Sherlock tossed a pebble into the reflecting pool and watched himself ripple out of existence only to return moments later, as if he had never left. He didn’t feel the need for a second pebble as “he loves me not” was no longer on the table. He loves me. It was no grand revelation really. Well it was and it wasn’t. In theory Sherlock had known John must love him. But to hear the words themselves was life changing. He, Sherlock Holmes, was loved. Sherlock looked up at Mercy’s designated meeting point and thought clever girl. He turned around scowled at Bishop and Pope, who hovered over him like two gargoyles while they waited for the third, Voltaire. Sherlock noted his old friend Pope on his mobile and snatched it from him. Sherlock turned the camera on himself with the Taj Mahal, framed perfectly in the background and snapped a photo. He tossed the phone back to Pope.

“Make certain that he gets it. I’m ready.” Sherlock walked right past a very confused Voltaire with a hurried Bishop and Pope behind.

 

~~~

“Hello J.” Mercy was prepared for John’s wrath upon finding out that their meeting went badly.

“You helped him. He could have been killed!” He didn’t yell but his tone was hot.

“You both could have been killed had I let him do it his way running around India playing Marco Polo until he found you. So yes I helped him. I had no idea you we being watched. It was completely off my radar.”

John sighed. He knew that when Sherlock got something in his head it was a losing battle and it was best to find the lest destructive way to get him what he wanted.

“I know how he can be. And I know you took every precaution. This opt has been too deeply compromised. Execute Scorched Earth protocol.” In John’s line of work when things get too convoluted to see what’s in front of you or behind you it was time to burn it all to the ground and start over.

“Personnel as well as assets?”

“Yes.” And that’s just what he was going to do. Erase the whole mission and everyone and everything that had anything to do with it. All the aliases, contacts wiped clean. On paper every one died and everything was lost. Scorched Earth. Clean slate.

“Done.”

“Thank you Mercy.”

 

~London~  
One Week Later

 

“Sir.”

“Yes Athena.” Mycroft did not look up at her from his desk. She waited.

Mycroft huffed and gave her a look of long suffering. “Yes.”

“The Darjeeling Opt. It...went south. No survivors.” Mycroft’s hand stopped mid motion. She waited...”Sir?”

“Thank you Athena.” He and Sherlock had had this conversation not long after Sherlock had shown serious interest in the Doctor.

————

“Are you actively trying to kill him!”

“Sherlock please do try to be a little less dramatic. I’m not trying to kill anyone. I’m not responsible for the opts he’s assign and half the time SAS work is so clandestine that no one even gives them orders. They are on their own. But he will die Sherlock it’s only a matter of time. Men like Dr. Watson, are not retired. He’ll go the way all men do. And when he dose, you’ll be broken.”

“You’re right. When he dies, fifty years from now, or fifty minutes, I will most certainly be quite broken. And yet...I won’t let that truth *or you*stop me.”

“You’re a fool!” Mycroft was angry and for the life of him couldn’t understand the uselessness of love or his brothers sudden willingness to fall under its spell. He had to wonder what made John Watson so extraordinary?

————-

 

And now he had to deliver the news he’d known all along was coming.

“Sherlock.”

“Mycroft. I haven’t done anything, so why are you here?” Sherlock didn’t turn from his music stand scribbling away and adjusting his violin strings.

“I’m here because...can you sit down please?”

“Mycroft I’m sure whatever you have to say won’t be altered in anyway by weather I sit or stand.”

He was in fact right. “He’s dead.”

Time stopped. Sherlock could see every partial of dust and hear the blood in his vains, he could have sworn he felt the second his heart broke. “Who?”

“Dr. Watson.” Mycroft found that he was fidgeting with his pocket watch.

“Did you have anything to do with it?” The words were so choked and quiet Mycroft almost missed them.

“No Sherlock. No.”

“Leave.” 

“Sherlock I’m here if you need...”

“Please...please please just...just...leave.” The words were shaky and barely audible.

Mycroft was powerless in the face of such pain. He wanted to make this go away but had absolutely no clue how to begin. He left.

Sherlock placed his violin in its case gently locking it. He moved slowly but with intent. He took off his dressing gown and folded it neatly over his chair. His movements were no more then necessary. Eyes fixed. He walked to his room and slipped his hand under his pillow and retrieved his key. He held himself stiff afraid that too much movement would jostle loose what was inside him. He slipped on his jacket followed by his Belstaff. Chin up. He took his mobile from his pocket and placed it on the sofa. Focus. Breathe. Not yet. When you get there, Sherlock told himself, a window, cutlery something. There will be a way. But not yet.


	34. Sorrow Death and Holiday

Sherlock was startled out of a dark solitary room in his mind palace by the cabbies light knock on the window, “We’re here mate. Fancy place this.”

Sherlock focused his vision and paid the driver. He climbed out of the cab and started down the long gravel path. This was John’s home a place that had shaped in some small part who he was, his footsteps had traveled these paths, his voice had echoed off the very walls. Surly there must be some of him left here. The Craig. Sherlock walked blindly on shaky legs a cold persistant mist weighted him down adding to the crushing pressure of his fallen heart. He reached the door and splayed his hand against the wood, hoping to feel what he did not know. The key sliding so smoothly into the front door lock was almost comforting and Sherlock despised it. He stepped into the foyer and let the key fall into his pocket before he turned.

“Fuck all Sherlock!” John burst around a corner. “This is the second time I’ve nearly shot you...what...what’s wrong?” John was frozen by cold terror and some unfamiliar fear rooting him to the floor.

Sherlock had no words, his eyes were wild his lips worked in soundless disbelief, he took two steps, four...no more he staggered, a shaking exhale was all he had to offer, he crumpled to his knees in a loose wet heep a broken thing he sobbed soul deep and mournful trembling and curling in on himself with sorrow.

Move! John’s mind screamed at him. John reached Sherlock on the floor and pulled him into his lap, Sherlock latched on with all his strength sobbing great anguished moans.

John held Sherlock painfully tight rocking him in his arms kissing his wet curls and face. Whispering over and over, “Who did this to you, who did this to you love? I’m here. I’m right here.” John soothed and shushed until the hiccuping sobs slowed to a stop. Sherlock pulled away just enough to see John’s face. He looked up at him with a watery approximation of a smile and it broke John’s heart.

“You were...dead.” Sherlock whispered. It hurt to say the words even in the face of their falsehood. “Mycroft...he...told me...you were...I came here...just to...be with you somehow. John...I thought you were...you were...” It was no use. The tears would have their way and clearly they were not done with him yet. Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest. 

“Hush now. I’m fine. Look here.” John’s tone was firm and real. “Sherlock look at me. Why did you come here? If you thought I was dead, why come here?” John somehow knew the answer. Knew that this man with all his brilliance and bravado had come here to die in the place were John had lived. The thought chilled John and his jaw clenched so tight he thought is teeth would shatter. He wanted to rage against the pain that came off Sherlock in radiant waves. Nothing should ever hurt Sherlock this way. Nothing and no one. And certainly not himself. “Sherlock!” John’s tone was no longer so soft it held a demanding edge. “Look. At. Me.”

Sherlock did as he was told. “John.” He reached to touch John’s face only to have his hand stopped in a firm grip.

“Why did you come here?” John’s anger rising. 

“You’re not a complete idiot, you know why.” Sherlock shrieked at John and made to snatch away embarrassed by John’s question and frustrated with his strength. He found the hold John had on him was far too tight. But Sherlock didn’t care, he would fight John’s grasp even if it was a losing battle. John didn’t understand. How could he? How could he know the plummeting darkness that invaded his mind, the solitary hell Sherlock would have to face without him. To go back...was unimaginable.

“But you clearly are an idiot. Stop it! Stop!” John’s order went ignored. The wrestling match didn’t last long and didn’t go in Sherlock’s favor. John sat atop him one wrist still in his grip the other pinned at his side by John’s knee. 

“Get off me!” 

“Shut up!” John took Sherlock’s mouth in a punishing kiss. “No one hurts you! No one. That includes you.” Sherlock was defeated.

“Yes John.”

John’s anger transformed into a desperate desire. Had John not been here at this exact moment he could have lost him. He pulled Sherlock into a kiss that left them dizzy. Both men realized how close they had come to ruin and they attacked, fueled by the adrenaline that only a brush with death can provide. They needed this. To feel this. It was quick, it was rough and it was perfect.

“This is life.” John whispered harsh in Sherlock’s ear fucking him hard from behind. Sherlock moaned and worked his hips back bringing John balls deep into him. “Every part of you is mine.” John bit down on Sherlock’s shoulder hard marking him claiming ownership Sherlock jerked at the pleasant pain. “Every breath belongs to me.” John gripped Sherlock’s waist and fucked him harder still in sharp thrust making him gasp and cry out. 

“YesJohnYesYes!” 

They were sweaty, bruised, sated and utterly alive.

 

~The Diogenes Club~  
London

 

John passed the old gentleman wildly flailing his arms in silent protest without a second glance as he stormed toward his goal. The double doors. They opened soundlessly.

Mycroft looked mildly surprised slightly cheeky and mostly disinterested. He was hard to pin down. John had to wonder if Mycroft had known all along that he was alive and hoped that Sherlock would play the forlorn lover for a time and then simply move on. He had misjudged the depth of his brothers feelings. And it had almost cost Sherlock his life. John had taught Sherlock that his life was no longer his to take.

Now John was here to make sure that Mycroft knew the next time he misjudged it would cost him his.

“Dr. Watson. Back from the dead I see. I’m sure Sherlock was overjoyed to...”

“Let me stop you right there. Sherlock.” John closed his eyes and took a moment before focusing on his target. “Do you know how fragile he is? Your brother. Do you know that the petulant child act is more a bid for love then it is for attention? That his harsh brilliant deductions are a shield against a world that doesn’t understand him?” John briefly rested his index finger on his lips. “More importantly do you know that if you hurt him ever again weather it be inadvertently or voluntary I will creep into your home under the cover of darkness into the warmth and security of your bedroom and I will kill you.” A small fatal smile turned up the corner of John’s mouth. “Now I know you’re thinking this would be counterproductive because Sherlock would hate me for killing his brother. And you’d be right. Probably. That’s why he’ll never know. My four horsemen and I are expertly skilled in the clandestine arts.”

“I never meant...I never wanted...to”

John didn’t wait for him to finish stammering through his unwanted apology.

~~~  
When John returned to The Craig he found Sherlock standing on a rise over looking the moors.

“Hello John.” Sherlock spoke without turning.

John didn’t approach immediately he studied the man before him. John wondered how raw and frazzled his nerves must be, considering his own truly fucked mental state. They had been through much in the past seventy two hours.

“I think we’ve earned a holiday.”

 

~~~

 

“Hello Mercy.”

“Hello J. How can I help you today?”

“I need you to suspend all over watch contingencies and call the team in.”

“Are we on holiday?”

“As a matter of fact we are.”

“Brilliant.”

“Before we break I’m going to need a new SAT phone link, and a clean mobile line. Call sign Angus Og.”

“Celtic God of youth, love and beauty.” Mercy’s voice bubbled with suppressed laughter.

“Shut it.” John warned.

“What? I think it’s adorable how in love you are.” The chuckles spilled over.

“Goodbye Mercy.”


	35. The Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s see how our boy do without dange despair or Mycroft nipping at their heels.

~~~

“John.” Sherlock’s muffled voice rumbled and his lips tickled the base of John’s throat from his spot on John’s shoulder.

“Mmm.” John half growled in reply to his love in his arms. 

“This can’t be what you had in mind as a holiday.” Sherlock murmured turning his face up. 

“With you is what I had in mind.” John tilted down to kiss perfect lips.

“My woebegone sofa surrounded by the whole of London.”

“The whole of London? I hadn’t noticed. And your sofa is perfect.” John deepened the kiss to something more.

 

~~~

Sherlock tried to decide where to keep his focus, there was John’s back which was well defined and drew Sherlock’s eye with the added intrigue of the shoulder wound but then his eye followed the length of John’s spine his attention faltered to John’s ass not round but lean and firm, Sherlock’s gaze lingered briefly then moved to the muscles in John’s thighs flexing as he navigated the kitchen clutter making a pot of tea. The man clearly had zero shame about his nudity and if Sherlock had to hazard a guess he have to say John was boarding on exhibitionist and it was lovely to watch. John only added to the picture of masculinity each time he looked over to Sherlock with a bit of wolf in his eyes. Sherlock blushed and tried up his dressing gown suddenly aware of his own pale lanky limbs, not ashamed, he never felt ashamed in John’s presence, just aware. Pleasantly so, because he knew that this pale lanky body was loved.

A knock on the downstairs door accompanied by a familiar voice brought Sherlock out of his revelry and to his feet, it also brought John to the threshold of the kitchen door holding two steamy cups smiling broadly stark naked. Sherlock’s eyes immediately snapped to John’s naked bits. Shit! Lestrade was moving up the seventeen steps far too quickly for any solution other then a blockade of sorts.

“Oi, been callin, I know you don’t like to talk well...you know, thought you’d text back by now.” Lestrade came to an abrupt hult at the top landing and gave Sherlock a puzzled look when he tried to side step him into the sitting room. Sherlock frowned but didn’t move. Not out of the way at least, Lestrade moved a hair to the right Sherlock leaned into his path.

“Call...I don’t remember any call,” he did in fact remember the call but at the time his mouth had been full, so no point trying to answer. “call about what exactly? Something else you can’t solve?” Sherlock braced a hand on the door frame when Lestrade looked like he was about to stand on tip toe to peer around him.

“No nothing like that. We’re having a bit of a Christmas do down at the Yard, and I know that’s not your thing and all, but you ought to come out.” Just as Lestrade stopped talking a light slapping nose began, like flesh on flesh. Sherlock looked around in wide eyed shock as John smiled near to bursting shimming his hips side to side making his tally wack on his thighs, Sherlock quickly smacked his palm in a matching rhythm on the door frame in time with John to mask the sound, Lestrade tried one last time to push forward, Sherlock pushed back. John stopped his dance and made a face when he slouched a bit of tea on his delicates.

“Look, I have a...a...ahh...very dangerous experiment in the kitchen that could go off at any second.” John’s eyes went wide in fake shock looking around the kitchen for said experiment. Sherlock didn’t know if he wanted to laugh cry or scream in Lestrade’s face. 

“Alright alright, just will you come?” Lestrade looked as if he were about to make one last attempt and that’s when Sherlock took action, he took the D.I. by the arm and lead him none too gently back down the seventeen steps.

“Yes yes Gerald, yes. I’ll be there, lovely, yes quite lovely thank you goodbye.” All in one breath as the door slammed home.

Back upstairs there now sat a fully dressed John Watson sipping tea and beaming. “I do love a Christmas fete.”

“You’re joking?” Sherlock took John’s cup from his hands placing it on the table before pushing John backwards and strattling his lap. 

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Ouch! What’s that for?” John rubbed at his assaulted ear.

Sherlock looked disapprovingly. “Trying to distract me.”

“I was trying to give you your tea.” John was the picture of innocence he grabbed Sherlock up by his thighs and flipped him over onto his back with a hump.

“Lier!” Sherlock tried to fane anger but fell short of believable due to his radiant smile and infectious laughter.

“Prove it!” John kissed and tickled away whatever rancor remained weather real or imagined.

~~~

“Why must we do this John?” Sherlock purred in John’s ear and curled around him like a big cat as they stood on the pavement waiting for a cab to appear.

John smiled and enjoyed the warmth and weight of his love in the crisp London air he couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been this happy. “I’ve told you, I want to meet the people you work with on a daily basis.”

“But their morons.” Sherlock whined into John’s neck and slid his hands into John’s front jean pockets from behind pressing himself firm against John’s back.

“Everyone’s a moron to you.” John shifted his hips back.

“You’re not.” Sherlock cajoled.

“Yes I am.” 

“Yes you are,” John was fairly certain Sherlock had stomped his foot. “especially since you’re making us go to this foolishness.” Sherlock sulked settling his chin on John’s right shoulder.

John shook with laughter. “We don’t have to stay long. I’ll take my measure of the lucky morons that get to spend time with the man I love and then we’ll be off yeah.” John braced for the tirade. This was the second time he’d said the “L” word and he was certain this time would not go unanswered.

“Oh I see, “ Sherlock straightened a bit but did not remove his hands. “I’m forbidden to say the words, but you are allowed to just throw them around all willy nilly.”

“Willy nilly, what the hell?” John questioned through his bust of laughter, he twisted out of Sherlock’s embrace to face him, slipping his own hands into Sherlock’s back pockets pulling him close. “Love,” he began but thought better of it. “Sherlock I’m sorry. I never should have asked you to do something that I couldn’t. It was just...the only thing I could say right then. The only thing that fit yeah. Whenever you want to say those words I’ll be more then happy to hear them.”

“How positively magnanimous of you.” Sherlock pulled a face all sass. No anger, the mood was as it had been, warm loving and fun. In a word, Happy. 

“Alright you prick.” John turned his back and Sherlock quickly resumed his position, but only for a moment. “Hale me a cab.” John said. Sherlock stepped to the curb and held up an arm and yelled “taxi!” And just like that magic happened. “Besides you told Gerald, you’d be there.”

Sherlock nearly fell to the floor of the cab in laughter clutching his chest.

“What!” John exclaimed following behind. 

“Get in I’ll explain on the way.” Sherlock voiced cracked with a residual chuckles. 

~~~

“Sherlock!” Lestrade’s happy booming voice greeted them at the door followed by an unexpected bear hug. John watched the exchange Sherlock’s face force down a smile and he roll his eyes. All John could think was how cute the whole thing was. “And who’s this then?” Greg, gestured to John with his pint. Sherlock and John hadn’t talked about how they’d planned on introducing their relationship or John himself for that matter so John waited for Sherlock to take the lead. This was his world and John would fit into it however Sherlock wanted him to.

“Lestrade this is J, he’s a friend staying with me for a while.” Sherlock smiled at John seeking his approval. 

John’s own brilliant smile and outstretched hand said it all. “DI Lestrade, I hear you’re the least incompetent of the bunch.”

Greg laughed at this hard enough to spill half a pint. “Let me get you a pint and you can tell me all about it.” Lestrade made to led John away, but not before John asked Sherlock silently if this was okay. Sherlock smiled in return and nodded his acceptance and John was off. 

~~~

“Oi, Freak, didn’t think you’d turn up. No dead bodies for you to poke about, thought those were the only kind of people you liked?” 

“Donovan please don’t pretend that what you do in that head of yours passes for though.” Sherlock’s tone was dry.

Sally had sidled up to Sherlock the second Lestrade was out of ear shot to spit her vile words at him. This was only one of the many things that made Sherlock dislike her. Never brave enough to be nasty to him in front of others, aside from Anderson, (who doggedly followed her lead) but always lurking waiting in the shadows like the coward that she was.

“He’s quite fit your mate, how did a Freak like you get a man like that to go anywhere with him? Did you pay him to pretend to be your friend? Caused you’d have to pay me.” Sally talked more to herself then to Sherlock. “I may have a run at that one. May even have to thank you later Freak.” 

Sherlock listened only halfheartedly to Donovan’s words. John was across the room laughing and talking with Lestrade like old mates. The picture of them both made Sherlock feel a warmth that blocked out the normal bite of Sally’s ire for the most part. But then she ventured into dangerous ground. Her words made Sherlock snap to attention. 

Sherlock turned to give Donovan his full attention. “Whatever you may be thinking of trying don’t. I can assure you it’s not going to go the way you think.” For whatever reason Sherlock felt the need to warn her of the dangers ahead. John was the best of men but his temper towards stupidity was nearly as intolerable as his own. 

“To be so smart and so dumb. Do you think it’s going to go the way you want it to? That man wouldn’t look twice at a poof like you.” Donovan’s voice dripped with false pity. She shook her head at Sherlock as if he were some poor lost fool and headed off. Sherlock felt the cuts of her words a little less deeply then usual, but he did feel them just the same.

~~~

 

“So how did you meet our boy wonder?” Lestrade pushed a pint in front of John on the bar.

John liked Lestrade immediately. He was what you would call a “mans man” in the truest sense of the word. He put John in the mind of his rugby mates in uni. 

“Well I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but Sherlock has a bit of a penchant for pissing people off.” John took a deep drink. “He’d let his mouth led his ass into a corner and he seemed out numbered, I was there right time right place, I lent a hand.”

Lestrade looked John over. “Sounds about right. You played a spot of rugby in your day didn’t you?”

“Exeter Beavers. You?”

“Nothing so fancy, but yeah. And I still try to get on the pitch every now and again. You should come play with us Yarders one day.”

“I’d like that.” John was sincere, he hadn’t played rugby in years but he would love to get out there in the mud. 

“That is if you’ll be around long enough. Like you said Sherlock has away of pissing people off.” Lestrade watched for John’s reaction. There wasn’t one. 

“I think I’m immune.” 

“Yeah, that’s the way of it when you fancy someone. They can do no wrong. Lest not for long anyway.” There it was. John cocked a half smile.

John wasn’t sure if Lestrade had picked up on what he and Sherlock really were or if he was just fishing. He was after all a detective Inspector and Sherlock had given him some credit. John ventured a guess.

“How did you know?” John flat out asked. 

“As Sherlock would say, was obvious really. You’re dressed alike.” They were. Both in all black jeans t-shirts and leather jackets. “You can’t stop looking over at him, he hasn’t stopped looking at you, and who’s going to put up with his shit unless they fancied him?”

Both men broke out in laughter.

 

~~~

Sherlock milled about the festivities trying to avoid as many chreey people as possible staying to the corners and keeping his eye on John who was now engaged in a very animated conversation with Lestrade, Hillsten, and Collins about rugby over football. Boys Sherlock mused. Sherlock took another turn around the room and nearly bumped into Molly.

“Hello Sherlock!” Molly was both shy and exuberant all at once tripping over her words. “You look... good...I mean nice, you look nice. Never seen you in jeans before, special occasion?” Sherlock looked around the party with an arched brow. “Oh,” Molly’s cheeks went pink. “This the party is the special occasion of course. Sorry. So...yeah it’s nice this. Are you enjoying yourself? I know you hate this kind of thing. Surprised you’re here. Why...why are you here? I mean I’m glad you came...just...”

“John wanted to come. You should meet him. He’s over there. With Lestrade.” Sherlock turned a bewildered Molly by the shoulders and gave her a slight push in their direction. Sherlock turned and went the other way.

~~~

John watched Sherlock have a one side conversation with a cute young woman who gazed up at him with open adoration. “Yeah, he has that effect on people honey.” John could relate. Sherlock said a few words and turned her by the shoulders and shoved her in John’s general direction. She glanced back over her shoulder with a doubtful smile and stated her reluctant procession towards John which was abruptly cut off by a pretty but harsh looking woman hell bent on him. Lestrade and the others hadn’t noticed a thing and wondered off to the loo promising to return. John laughed inwardly watching the two woman about to collide it had been a while since a cat fight had broken out over him, this could be fun. But it was not to be. The mousey brunette backed down, letting the other woman over take her. 

“Hello there. Sgt. Sally Donovan.” She extended her hand at John having reached her prize.

He took it. “Hello you’re self Sgt.” John knew who she was. He knew Sherlock wasn’t a fan. He wanted to find out why.

“Please call me Sally, unless you like the whole rank and file game.” She slithered on to bar stool and crossed her legs showing off too much thigh in her tight red party dress. John found her tacky ham fisted and classless.

“Not really my thing.” John leaned on the bar and ordered two glasses of scotch.

“And what is your thing then? I’d very much like to know.” She pushed her breast forward with zero finesse.

“Effortless beauty. Intelligence.” John got into her space just enough to draw her in with his words. “The moon. A hidden kindness.”

“The moon then. So you’re one of those astrology people? Into all that moon and stars stuff. Did the freak get you into it? I hear he’s into some pretty strange stuff.”

“I’m sorry. Who?” John asked the question on pins and needles praying he was wrong.. Surly she didn’t mean...

“Oh just Sherlock. It’s what some of us call him around here.” Sally smile so pleased with herself.

“Oh? Like who?” John waited for her answer and let the smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Sally misunderstood.

“Me and Anderson mostly. Oh but he’s your mate. We’re just takin the piss it’s all in fun. So, what are the stars telling you about us?” John felt like he would vomit. 

“I think it’s time for me to leave.” John collected his two drinks and shoved some money in a glass.

“Well let’s go then.” Sally was already on her feet with a wide smile.

“Oh. Hell no. You thought I meant with you? No.” Sally’s mouth dropped open and her eyes began to narrow. “Cause you see that freak over there,” John gestured to Sherlock with a glass in hand. “I plan on letting him fuck me speechless later and I have a feeling you’d just be in the way.” 

“You...” Sally puffed up and was about to unleash a tirade when John stopped her.

“Ah, ah, ah. As a rule I don’t generally hit women unless they pick a fight. Are you picking a fight Sgt. Donovan?”

Sally wasn’t sure if John was for real or not, but something told her not to take the chance. So she’d just have to settle for rude. “Fuck off!” She threw the words as hard as she could standing her ground.

“I won’t have to.” John winked with his little crooked smile and left.

 

~~~

“Kiss me.” John held out the scotch to Sherlock.

“What? Here? John there’s people. They’ll see.” Sherlock looked panicked just at the thought.

“I know. That’s kinda the plan.” John waited. This was Sherlock’s decision, but John wanted these people to know. Know that Sherlock was loved cherished and protected by him. And so John waited. Hoping Sherlock would trust him, hoping Sherlock would be brave and say fuck these people.

Sherlock stared down into his glass of scotch. He loved John so much. Sherlock tossed back the liquor and leaned in he placed his hand on John’s chest. “Here goes.” John let his hand holding the tumbler fall to his side, the other he reached up and tangled into Sherlock’s curls. Their lips met warm and smoky with scotch too deep and passionate for public they stopped but didn’t break apart. 

“I love you John Watson.” 

“Let’s go home.”

 

~~~

 

The solitaire figure at the poker table sat dejected with his head in his hands looking like the absolute picture of the poster boy for “Gamblers Anonymous.” Normally his brilliant smile (made all the more so by his ebon skin) was on full display winning him hearts both on and off the table. But not tonight. Tonight He’d lost. Again. Big. This time there were sure to be repercussions. 

The man held up his head slowly coming back to his bleak reality. Three men had joined him at the table. 

“We would like to make you an offer.” Russian. The man at the far end with the thick neck full of gold and tattoos spoke.

“I’m listening.” The poster boy said as if he had a choice.

“We need Sherlock Holmes to do some work for us. You...know...him?”

“Biblically.”

“We would like you to...convince him to do this work for us. Can you do this?”

“How am I supposed to get that willful prek to do anything? The only way I could ever control him was through drugs.”

All three Russians gave him a look and poster boy had to wonder if “duh” was universal.


	36. Happy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been too long since we've seen our boys. When last we where with them John had just declared a holiday for his team and his love and a tall dark stranger was looming in waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. The Cold East Wind here. First let me say I'm so very sorry I've been away so long, I have missed you all immensely! Second, I hope all your holidays were Merry and Bright! And I hope you enjoy this little gift from me.

John and Sherlock walked slowly back to Baker Street, waving their way through the crowds of holiday shoppers enjoying the joyful mood carried on the coldnight air.

“Now that I’ve met yours, I’d like you to meet mine.” 

“But I’ve already met your team, save for Bishop.”

“That was work.”

“And there’s a difference?”

“Night and day. We have a safe house in Paris, we all try to be there for new year, it usually doesn’t work out that way, but this year we got lucky. I got very lucky. Plus this is actually our second new year together you and I and I’d love to actually spend it with you. Come. Please.” Love so pure danced in John’s deep blue eyes how could Sherlock say anything but yes.

“La Ville-Lumiere.” Sherlock said in flawless French.  
(The City of Lights)

“La Ville De L’Amour.”  
(The City of Love) John corrected him no less perfect with a smile and a kiss to the back of the hand he’d been holding. 

They stopped on the pavement and kissed as light fluffy snow started to float down on London.

~~~

After stopping at a few shops and finding the smallest Christmas tree they could comfortably carry they headed back to Baker Street for John to deck the halls. He said it was tradition in his house and Sherlock would just have to endure. After much obligatory grumbling and a good pout on his part Sherlock found a seat on the sofa and watched the assassin he loved fill his flat with Christmas cheer.

 

“I suppose that band of highly specialized killers of yours are no strangers to your brand of holiday cheer.” Sherlock held up a gingerbread man ornament and squinted at the thing incredulously.

“Specialized killers love Father Christmas too you know." John snatched the ornament from his hand and pecked Sherlock's lips on his way to hang the offensive thing. "It’s been awhile since we all holidayed together. Actually my team hasn’t had a real break in nearly two years. This down time will do them good.”

“Two years. So none of them have family. But of course not, that would compromise them." Sherlock pulled a frown and let his words trail off. “Tea?” He threw the word over his shoulder bounding up from the sofa not waiting for an answer. The gears were turning and John could tell Sherlock had hit on a subject that made him somehow uncomfortable.

“Yes please.” John replied to the tea and watched his love pad about silently on bare feet around his cluttered kitchen. This place suited him. The cozy sanctuary in the bustling heart of London. John had thought he and Sherlock would spend their limited free time at The Craig when they could, away from the world, but this laid-back little flat felt like home. Their home. John found himself looking down the road to a future with this man. Holy fuck. But first he needed to know if he was walking that road alone. 

Sherlock came back and sat a cup down in front of John (who’d found his way back to the sofa to take a look at his handy work) then he sat crossed legged on the floor on the opposite side of the table, he held his cup in both hands smothering the poor thing as he blow off puff of steam. John chuckled. Sherlock gave him a look that was disarming in its quiet beauty.

“Your team...they are close?” Sherlock approches his words carefully, tentative with down cast eyes. This was ground they had yet to cover and Sherlock was concerned about how John’s team would receive him. The babysitting detail hadn’t given him much of an opportunity to get to know (or deduce) them. This trip to Pairs would be deeply intimate.

“We have to be. What we do doesn’t work unless you trust the person beside you implicitly.” John sipped at his tea, and waited. Sherlock was picking through his thought process. 

“At first...I assumed Cardinal, was your lover. She fits your type. Then perhaps an ex. Until I saw that she wasn’t. You and she are close, comfortable even with no lingering malice no undercurrent of longing or resentment. So friends.”

“Although Irene, is in part my type, she lacks a certin something.” John wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Sherlock responded with a head shake and an eye roll topped with a small smile. “We met in Uni, been friends ever since. I’ve put my life in her hands more times then I can count.” John had a feeling this little Q&A, had just begun so he settled in ready for any and all questions, for Sherlock he'd gladly be an open book.

“Pope is clearly homosexual.” This Sherlock said with a shoulder shrug a and sip of his tea. 

“Clearly, but our Charlie still lives very close to the closet so until he's comfortable we don't push. How could you tell ?”

Sherlock flashed John a horrorfied look. “Oh honey those shoes!” Sherlock did his best Freddie Mercury which was alarmingly good and both of them fell into childish laughter and it took them a few minutes to wipe the tear from their eyes. 

“I’m assuming you thought I slept with him too?”

“Why would I think that?” Sherlock seemed appalled.

“Oh I’m sorry, I though it was a given.” John raised his hands in defense.

“Blond, blue eyed, bearly shaven bit of a golden boy, too...rough, not...delicate enough for you.” 

“Delicate? Is that what you think I like?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock looked down into his tea cup with a hit at avoidance as if he could see the next stop on John’s train of thought.

“Alright.” But John didn’t take the path lied out in front of him. He had different roads he wanted to follow. “What about you?”

“Me? What about me?” Sherlock was thrown a little off balance. He knew where this conversation could end up and he needed to push the path back into safer territory. 

“I don’t have your deductive skills but I’d bet short rugby build SAS Operative, was not on your wish list.”

Sherlock studied John for a long moment. Beautiful John. His John. To be honest if that had been the description Sherlock were given...no John would not have fit his taste. Not on paper anyway. The basic outline did John no justice whatsoever.

 

“That is in part true.” Sherlock confessed. What he didn’t say was that he’d never really had a specific type because he had never seen a future with anyone. “But not for the reasons you think. In the past I had no real picture of my Vitruvian Man. Therefore I had no type for you to fall short of. There was an unintentional pun in there. Sorry.” Sherlock waved a hand gesture and did something between a grimace and a suppressed laugh. John rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Ok. Makes sense. But not even an honorable mentions? No one stand out lover over the years? Nothing?” John poked farther while looking over the rim of his cup. Sherlock signed. John was not going to let up and to be fair Sherlock could understand. He himself wanted to know every minut detail of John Hamish Watson and the possibly of John wanting the same made Sherlock’s heart skip. But this line of questioning was making him nervous and the possibility of John being turned off by those some of those details was unthinkable. Sherlock reasoned that keeping things vague but truthful was the best corse of action. 

“Alright. I had a bunk mate in Uni, his name was Victor Tevor, I thought he was important to me, turns out he wasn’t.”

This was skirting far too close to topics Sherlock didn’t want John to know about. Not yet anyway. He wasn’t ready for John to see him in that light. Diminished. No longer the moon of his life, but the common junkie he allowed himself to become.

“Alright then.” John sat his cup down stood.

“Sorry?” Full stop.

John walked around to stand over Sherlock and offer him a hand up. "Well unless you want to tell me that the two of you had a lovely little ceremony in Venice, and your last name is actually Trevor and that your husband should be home any second, yeah that’s it.”

Sherlock took johns hand and stood frowning down at him. "I...don’t understand.”

“I know. We’ll have to work on that.” John tugged lightly on Sherlock's shirt front indicating for him to bend down for a kiss. Sherlock smiled and gave up his soft lips to John's request.

 

 

~~~

December 22nd.

 

“Judge.”

“Hello Cardinal.” John took the call as he braced against a damp London wind.

“I finally have your package. Sorry it took so long.”

“No worries, these things take time.”

“True. But this took more time then it should have. In the end I told him play the damn fake or I’ll kill you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do that in the first place.” John entered the Thai restaurant to the sound of a bell jingle above the door.

“Well he is a friend.” John laughed that was his girl.

“I’ll be there to pick it up tomorrow.” John payed and winked at the lovely dark haired young man at the register on his way out.

“So am I to assume that Sherlock won’t be joining us for new year?”

“We’ll be at Tartarus in time for fireworks.” John squinted into the wind as he headed back to Baker Street.

“Brilliant!”

 

~~~

“Do you have it?” Sherlock watched out the window as John jogged across the street heading to pickup takeaway.

“Sherlock I really can’t see...”

Sherlock interrupted with each word punctuated as he asked again. “Do you have it?”

“Sherlock...”

“Mycroft?”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Fine, I have it.”

Sherlock did his best not to let the squel he was holding back creep into his reply. “I’ll come by the club tomorrow.”

“At lest let me have it delivered. It’s not the type of thing you take home on the tube.”

“I rarely use the tube Mycroft.” But in truth Sherlock could see Mycroft’s point. Not that he was about to admit it. 

“Sherlock.” It was Mycroft's waring tone of a mother hen. 

“Fine.”

 

~~~  
No sooner then John had slipped his mobile back into his pocket did it buzz for his attention again

“Hello J.”

“Hello Mercy.” John waited at the corner for the traffic to clear.

“I have a call for you from Sebastian Moran. Would you like me to put it through?”

John and Sebastian had learned to work together over the months they’d been forced into each other’s company. In the end they had earned more then just a mutual respect. What they did was a immoral brotherhood of sorts, and they understood one another in a way neither had expected. Plus loving a mad genius put you in a very exclusive club.

“Put him through Mercy thank you.” Mercy put the call though without a word and was gone.

“William you old so and so! How are you?”

John shook his head and stifled a laugh at Moran’s usual greeting. “This is a secure line Doyle.” John put emphasis on the ails Moran had used in India.

“I expected as much. I’ll keep this short, I’ve got intel. Can we meet?”

“I’ll be in Paris tomorrow. The Pantheon at 4?” John was looking at Moran’s current location that Mercy had sent him at the beginning of the call.

“Not even going to ask how you know. Your intelligence gathering really is top notch.”

“Well you know we spy boys have our ways. You on a job?” John was just a block away from the flat now. 

“I am, one that I’m surprised you didn’t take it.”

“Belmont?”

“Yeah.”

“I try to stay away from the from the military ones.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been more the coup d’état type. Anywho.”

“What can I say? I play to my strengths. See you at 4 then?”

“Yep.”

 

~December 23rd, Paris France~

 

“Paris is for lovers J.” Moran held a cigarette between his pearly white teeth hand shoved deep into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket. "Did you have something in mind?” The words were delivered with Sebastian’s signature sly smile.

“Not fuckin likely Moran” John laughed. “and you’re the one who wanted to see me remember. So why am I here?”

“Oh I don’t know maybe one day more likely then you think. Anyway, down to business you’re here because I’ve got intel. Sherlock’s in danger.”

“Who’s the threat? Is it your boss?”

“No, it’s not Jim. And we both know that if it were I wouldn’t tell you. His plans are my plans. So no. Not Jim. Who it is I’m not sure. But I know the threat is eminent and I know the plan is to extract information.”

“Eminent. Why haven’t I heard of it then?”

“Oh Johnny Boy, because you’re on the side of the angels.”

“And you’re not?”

“On occasion. When it suits me.”

“I guess I should thank you.”

“Yes you should. And I should let you. Over and over.” Moran took a long drag on his cigarette tossed down a bit of money and winked his goodbye. John watched Moran melt into the crowd. This information had not been what John wanted to hear, or what he had expected. But things were rarely predictable in his line of work and like it or no Sherlock was in his line of work too. Right then. With this new knowledge John had even more reason then the package under his arm to hurry back to London. 

 

~221B Baker Street ~  
Christmas Day

Christmas at Barker Street dawned snowy and full of surprises. Sherlock hadn’t deduced the fact that John had gifted him The Irish Stratovarius, but not because John had done such a clever job of hiding it downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, but because Sherlock (for once) chose not to see. He actually wanted to be surprised for John's sake. It had not been easy to ignore all the tell-tale signs, day trips to Paris, where violinist Antti Tikkanen was playing, smelling of Hudders, when he came back up after giving her a hug of thanks. Obvious. But for John just this once, Sherlock would turn a bland eye, it was after all Christmas. 

John on the other hand was well and truly surprised by the Surgeon Racs limited sniper rifle Sherlock gifted him. 

"This is brilliant! Consulting Dick must pay better then I thought." John shouldered the rifle and beamed like a ten year old. "These things are impossible to get your hands on!This is...just...you are a thing of wonder Sherlock Holmes." 

"You're not so bad yourself John Watson." Sherlock clicked his new violin case shut and came down from his chair to join John on the rug in front of the fire.


	37. And So It Goes...And Goes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere there exists a place were John and Sherlock have always been and will always be in perfect harmony. This is not that place.
> 
> One more thing Victor Trevor is portrayed but Idris Elba. Have fun with that!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lovingly dedicated to the always magnificent PatPrecieux...why you may say? If you know Pat you know why. If not well for the sheer joy of putting a smile on her face. Let's hope it works.

~~~

Paris, France New Year’s Eve

 

“Welcome to Tartarus.” Cardinal flung wide the doors and her arms with a dynamic sweep to rival that of the most exhubrent game show host.

Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh. “Tartarus? As in Judgment death and divine punishment? This is a far far cry from the deep abyss I’m afraid.” The 17th century mansion was architecturally stunning with all its stone and arches and beautiful appointments. “Divine punishment indeed.” Sherlock did a slow twirl taking in the surroundings.

“J, he’s perfect and I may steal him.” Cardinal weaved between the two of them and out of sight leaving only her words and “Flower Bomb” left to hang in the air.

“She does know I don’t go both ways?” Sherlock looked after her with a concerned expression.

John chuckled. “No worries kitten neither dose she. Come on, let’s get settled.” 

John led the way to a spacious bedroom with a beamed ceiling and four floor to ceiling pained windows.

“This is no safe house.” Sherlock moved about the room running his fingers over all the little details that were so obviously John. “Well it is, and it isn’t. This is your room. And this is Mercy’s home. Tartarus was your idea. Judgment. The last judgment. Which is you. And no mercy. Her. Both of which resides in Tartarus. The only thing I can’t work out is this...are you all the Titans imprisoned here? Or the tourtured souls?” 

“Brillant. You're brilliant and it verifies depending on the turn of the day. Some days we rise. Others we fall. Today...I am risen." John flopped down on the bed arms open wide patting the pillow next to him. “Join me.” 

“It’s the middle of the day with a house positively abuzz with people.” Sherlock made this observation as he toed off his shoes slipped languorously out of his jacket and crawled up the bed in a slinky hip winding motion that John knew well. 

“I was just suggesting a bit of a cuddle.” John tried to reason more to himself then to the predator approaching.

“Not likely.” Sherlock's wicked baritone settled somewhere south in John’s already bulging jeans.

 

~~~

"So the girls in one room boys in the other?" Bishop fell into the sofa next to John and Pope already settled with their drinks.

John half smiled. "Something like that. And just so you know Bishop, he'd kick your ass if he heard you say that." 

Bishop raised a speculative yet good natured eyebrow. "I'll take my chances."

"Well he'd try anyway. And then I'd have to kick your ass." They laughed.

Sherlock Mercy and Cardinal were deep in conversation on the balcony and didn't spare them a glance. Cardinal gave them a brief but deadly glare. The boys laughter died nervously.

"So this is unorthodox...in...so many ways, and if no one else is going to address the elephant in the room then..." 

"Spit it out Bishop." John had known Bishop would be the one, the one to breach the subject the one to poke said elephant. Bishop was the consummate Devils Avedicate.

"He's a civilian. In our safe house. It wasn't that long ago he was an asset." Bishop sat forward elbows resting on knees.

"Make your point then." John leaned in. 

"Why is he here? The risk just seems too great."

Pope interjected clearly having Johns back. "It's a safe house where's the risk? And why he's here should be obvious."

"It is. And it isn't. Humor me." Bishop pressed on.

John was silent for a moment smiling fondly at the trio on the balcony. "He's here because I was seriously thinking about proposing to him at the stroke of midnight, city of love and all, but that's too cliche and the twat that he is he would give me shit about it until we were in our graves, so with that off the table, he's here because I love him." John watched the animated conversation going on outside with an expression of warmth and love."He's important to me and by bringing him here to meet all of you that should tell you just how much. Was that a risky move? I suppose so, but what is love if not risk? I hope that answers your questions Bishop, and any that the rest of the team may have. Now if you'll excuse me it's almost midnight and you two need to figure out who to kiss." John let his words sink into the silence for a minute then dislodged himself from between the two and made his way to the balcony. 

 

~~~

 

"So, do I pass muster?" Sherlock laid with his head resting on his arm his breathing coming back to something resembling normal.

John faced Sherlock from his own arm pillow unable to do anything but smile in the face of love and beauty. The fireworks outside their windows lite both the room and Sherlock in a surreal kaleidoscope. "You passing muster was never in question." John's own voice breathy but not from fatigue, he brushed Sherlock's cheek with the pad of his thumb and smiled.

Sherlock tried catching the digit in his mouth and continued to speak. "I am aware that you brought me here to...familiarize myself with your people..."

"Sherlock, I wanted you here. Plain and simple. I want you wherever I am. If you got to know my team and grew to like them mores the better. So if anyone needed to pass muster it was them."

"And if I say they don't?" 

"Then they don't."

"And what exactly dose that mean for us?"

"Less people at the wedding. You know just what it means. You practically read my thoughts so why ask?"

"You're not going to give up your team for me."

"No, I'm not. But if you're put off by them then I won't force it." Sherlock bridged the space between them and kissed John softly. 

"I like them all very much and to be completely honest, the girls are my favorites."

"Oh fuck, should I be worried?" A look of horror graced John's face.

Sherlock laughed. "No need. My sexuality is firmly in place." Sherlock guided John's hand to the proof of his words.

 

 

~~~

London, January 2nd.

Sherlock always loved returning home, returning to London. Nothing made his heart jump the way London did. Well nothing that is except John. Anomalous John. Exactly what Sherlock hadn't known he'd been looking for. The thought made him smile, London made him smile, 221B Baker Street which the taxi had just pulled up in front of made him smile. 

"Oh for the love of...just pull it together." Sherlock said out loud but didn't manage to wipe the smile completely off his face. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock found he couldn't help but bellow as he stepped thought the door. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Shush! Be civilized! You're not in Paris anymore!" Mrs. Hudson lovingly swatted Sherlock's arm.

"And mores the pity." Sherlock squeezed her shoulders playfully and pecked her on the cheek.

"Stop it now. You've got a visitor upstairs. Very handsome one." She said in a little conspiratorial whisper.

Sherlock arched a brow his smile slipped way and headed up the stairs.

 

~~~

 

“Hello Holmes.” The familiar gravel voice made Sherlock pause.

“Why are you here?” His defense were up in an instant.

“Oh don’t be like that. I missed you.” The man was indeed handsome just as he'd always been. He wore a suit jacket and tie with a bottom up and jeans it was an almost shabby look but on him it fit.

“That’s a lie.” The heat of fear blossomed in Sherlock’s chest. Victor Trevor. The shadow of Sherlock’s past casting its oppressive darkness down upon his burgeoning future.

“Are you calling me a lier? And after such a long time apart.” Victor stood up from the sofa tall and imposing as always. Sherlock’s breath caught like a hot painful knot in his chest.

“No Victor I’m not. But I would like to know the reason you’ve come here?” Sherlock felt the old fear cloak him and his heart sank, sank back into the blackness it had once lived in. 

“Well well well, look who’s grown a backbone. How cute.” Victor walked right into Sherlock’s space and tilted his chin up to him with one finger. “Stop it now. I’m here because I heard about this whole crime solving thing you do and it sounded like you could use some help.”

Victor Michael Anthony Trevor had never helped anyone a day in his life without gaining something in return.

“Victor I...I...”

“Nooo. No need to play the genius for me. I know who you really are Sherlock.” Victor ran his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip and it made him shudder. Victor mistook the action for passion and not the revulsion that it was.

Victor had always been able to render Sherlock useless, back at Eton he had manipulated Sherlock with the skill of the future con man he would become. Feeding on Sherlock’s insecurities like an Incubus. Their relationship has been abusive and drug fueled. Thought the haze of pain and drugs Sherlock had believed there was love underneath it all, Victor had used all his skill as a lover on Sherlock and that had clouded Sherlock's vision, and this would be how he learned that sex and love were in no way related. Victor would be his teacher. Now here he was in all his glory to tear down Sherlock’s world to it’s foundation.

“Victor, things are different now. My past...”

“Is ugly, I know and I’m sure you don’t want the things you’ve done we've done getting out and hurting the people you care about. So...let’s you and I together make sure that never happens. I need...well in a word, you. So...”

“Victor I have someone now.” Sherlock hates the way the unsteady words fall out of his mouth. 

“Oh, well that’s aces! To have someone who can get past all that history, I mean just the needle use alone is enough to put most people off, let alone the drugs! This guy of yours must really be something. I’d love to met him.”

“No!” Sherlock cursed himself for a fool the second the panicked word was out of his mouth. He’d shown his hand and now there it was that shark tooth smile that said I’ve won and you’ve lost. “What do you want?”

“To catch up on old times, just the two of us. That’s all.” Victor brushed his knuckles a little too hard over Sherlock’s cheek with the most saccharine sweet smile.

“I think not.” Sherlock tried for bold, but in this moment with Victor looming both literally and figuratively over all that he held dear the attempt was hollow.

“If that’s the way you want it then.” Victor seemed truly sad by this decision. “I should let you know...I've not been completely honest. I've made some new friends and in truth they are...shall we say...less then friendly. So don't try to be brave or smart and out think me. We both know you can, but don't. Because this time if you do you lose. You lose everything. John is it? Don't look so shocked, I didn't come into this blindly. I know where you're weak, and I know how to break you. John will learn all the nasty details of who you really are genius detective. So what's it going to be?"

Sherlock was cornered. Obviously there were a thousand different ways out of this situation but Sherlock couldn't see a single one. What he could see was the look of love and adoration that always shone in John's eyes turn into bitter disappointment. In the end Sherlock cursed himself for the worst kind of fool. 

 

He pulled out his mobile and shot off a text to John. He turned the screen around and showed it to Victor before hitting send. 

 

J. I think we need to take a step back. Paris was a bit over much.  
SH~

 

~~~

Tbilisi, Georgia

 

 

“Hello J."

"Hello Mercy."

"Bit of an issue. We’ve lost the London feed.” Mercy waited into the silence. She could hear the tension bleeding through the line. John starred down blankly at the words on the screen. This was too much of a coincidence to be coincidence. This was orchestrated. But why? Why? 

“I’ll handle it.” John was unfocused and more then a little dazed as if he’d suffered an actual physical blow. What the fuck was happening? He had to get his head around this right fuckin now, the opt ahead was a dangerous one, and he needed to be on point. Fuck if Sherlock Holmes was going to put him off his game. If he wanted it to be...what over? Then so be it. It’s over. Right?The thought stabbed his heart, behind his eyes, in his gut. John rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck! What the fuck. Why? Why? Why? The question filled John’s head in a cacophony of pain pushing away everything else. Fuck this! John was not some fresh faced school boy who'd never been kissed. What he was was a grown ass man who had NEVER been dumped in this life. And now was not the time for this absolute bullshit! FUCK!

“Cut the SAT link for call sign Angus Og.”

“J, you’re being rash. I’m sure that if you just give it some time...”

“Mercy...”

“If you only take the time to think...”

“Mercy please...”

“For just a second you’d realize...”

“CUT THE FUCKING LINK!” John ended the call by hurling his mobile against the wall with enough force to leave it in unrecognizable bits.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure where this came from. I sat down to work on Truth Or Dare, and this came out. Let’s see where this goes?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover] Exfill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586303) by [allsovacant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant)




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